


Two Bards and a Witcher

by AbraxasBelzebub, blue_furious_welly_boots, TheCrownprincessBride



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventually maybe Geralt & Jaskier & Valdo, Multi, Nightmares, POV Multiple, Past Abuse, Pre-Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Role-Playing Game, Slow Burn, Timeline What Timeline, Valdo Marx has a past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 25,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbraxasBelzebub/pseuds/AbraxasBelzebub, https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_furious_welly_boots/pseuds/blue_furious_welly_boots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrownprincessBride/pseuds/TheCrownprincessBride
Summary: A bard got lost in a forest. He’s alone, and he’s hungry, and he’s fucking lost. The worst thing about it, though?He’s not alone in the forest.~~~Or: How Geralt acquires a new bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	1. The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone,  
> this is an RPG, which is still going on, between AbraxasBelzebub, Kinga, and me (CP). We will update tags when we post new chapters. We’ll try to update once a week; at first it might be quicker, though, because we already have a couple thousand words written.  
> Ratings is subject to change, depending on how this develops. Chapters will be also longer as we progress.
> 
> Dramatis Personae:  
> Geralt - CP  
> Valdo - AbraxasBelzebub  
> Jaskier - blue_furious_welly_boots

**Valdo**

I am lost. I made peace with that fact a few hours ago. My orientation isn't the best really. I knew that, even if I'd never willingly admit it. That, however, isn't anything new nor the worst thing possible. I know how to survive, my mother’s a herbologist of sorts and she taught me everything about what was edible or not, just in case. 

What  _ is  _ bad, though, is that... fiend that’s currently chasing me, stretching out its long, clawed fingers towards me as I’m trying to run away. The gods know I wouldn't last long, not against a monster as fast as this. 

I cry out when I feel a sharp pain in my right leg, but I resist the urge to look at it, in favour of pushing my body to move  _ faster _ .

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I hear a cry echoing through the dark forest. Instantly, my whole body tenses, ears pricked to pick out any sound. It sounded like a human voice - thankfully not Jaskier's, though. The bard should safely be at the inn, playing his  ~~ stupid  ~~ ...  ~~ nice  ~~ ...  _ crowdpleasing  _ music. 

The sound wasn't very far away. I can hear feet running - or limping - towards me, branches cracking under careless feet. I can almost smell the human's fear under the pungent stink of werewolf. What kind of idiot stumbles through a forest during a full moon?

Unsheathing my silver sword, I sprint deeper into the underbrush --

And find myself with a handful of bard clinging to my armour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CP:  
> I hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned...
> 
> ~~~
> 
> AbraxasBelzebub:  
> *Bardic hugs*


	2. The Meeting

**Valdo**

The pain in my leg seems non-existent at first, but, with every step and dodge around the trees and bushes in my way, the pain intensifies exponentially. The terror of being ripped apart and eaten makes me look back, only to see a terrifying maw, growling from between way too many and way to sharp teeth.

This short moment of distraction ends with me clashing with something hard. A tree for sure. So that is how the life of one Valdo Marx, the greatest bard of all times, master lutenist will come to a tragic end.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Moving on instinct, I push the bard aside, and he falls with an indignant squeak and a clatter of wood and lute strings to the ground, but I have no time to check on him.

The werewolf pounces, and I only just manage to bring my sword up to deflect his first blow. His yellow eyes glow dangerously in the dark as he draws back, lightening fast, before I can land a hit on him.

Hastily, I move forwards, intent on distracting him from the easy prey on the ground. His foul breath attacks my senses and I grimace, lifting my sword for another attack.

The beast moves easily through the trees, obviously familiar with the territory, but it's no match for a Witcher. Silver gleams in the dark as my sword strikes true... and the monster is no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AbraxasBelzebub:
> 
> The Princess is busy and the Blue Furious is ill (wish them all the healthyness please!) so this is my realm now! LET THE CHAOS REIGN!!! XD MUHAHAHAAA!!!!  
> *throws confetti and lute-shaped baked-goods around, while screaming the lyrics of "Fishmonger's Daughter"*


	3. The Moonlit Knight

**Valdo**

The tree is  _ moving _ . 

And it pushes me to the side mercilessly. 

But I have other worries because I almost fell onto my lute when the tree shoved me to the ground. She makes a displeased sound at the sudden impact, and I send a quick prayer to all the gods who might be listening that she was alright. 

Looking up from the ground, my precious instrument cradled in my arms, I realise that what I thought to be a tree is, in fact, a  _ man _ . A warrior or knight of sorts? Very quick-moving, very broad-shouldered, and  _ very  _ white-haired. The latter glistens almost blindingly in the moonlight. 

It would’ve been hypnotising to watch this magnificent fight if it hadn’t ended as quickly as it did. 

Well, I could still make an epic ballad out of this for sure… perhaps about a fair knight, his hair made of moonlight, rushing to rescue his beloved from a rabid beast that greedily wants to keep the dark beauty for itself! 

I’m so lost in thought about the potential ballad that I belatedly realise the big shadow lingering over me. I hear a throat being cleared. Is that  _ annoyance  _ I can hear in there? How does one even  _ sound  _ annoyed while clearing one’s throat?

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I stare at the dead werewolf a moment longer, willing my heartbeat to slow again, when the smell of blood reaches my nose. I spin around, my gaze piercing easily through the shadows, and I find the human - the bard - a few metres away, cradling his instrument.

_ Really? _ , I think. It must be part of the profession to have absolutely no sense of self-preservation. 

Sheathing my silver sword, I step up to the bard in question, who stares at me like he's seen light for the first time in forever. It's frankly unnerving. Jaskier had the same look on his face when I met him in Posada and I really don't need two bards filling the silence with chatter and music. 

The bard doesn't smell afraid, so that's a plus. I hate the sour stench of fear, and so close after a hunt, it either wakes the predator in me that wants to hunt, hunt, hunt, maim,  _ kill _ , or it completely overwhelms my senses.

Giving the bard a moment to compose himself, I clear my throat.

"Are you hurt?" I ask, the faint smell of blood still present in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas:  
> It's me again! X3 Princess still busy and Blue Furious still furiously ill (not really, she's slowley but surely getting better X3). 
> 
> *strums Maevephora the lute* My lovely Gentlepeople! -How`s my singing?- Nope... scratch that... 
> 
> *strums Mae again* How do you like it here so far? -asking for a friend- *shifty eyes* 
> 
> *Mae strumming intensifies* What are your thoughs on this little indulgence of ours? 
> 
> Three words or less! *one quick ear-shrivelling shred on my sweet Maevephora* <3


	4. Blood Stains on Velvet

**Valdo**

The voice coming out of the knight’s mouth is gravelly, almost unpleasant to the ear. My eyes follow the voice all the way up his body, but his face is hidden in shadow, the broad shape of his shoulders blocking the light of the full moon. 

"No, no... I'm fine." I find my voice, but it sounds shaky even to myself. I attempt to stand up, however, the pain of the forgotten leg wound sends me back to the ground, probably adding some bruises onto my behind. 

"Or maybe not quite..." I carefully put my lute aside but keep it close. I draw up my right leg to inspect it. It’s soaked in blood, and I’m hesitant to touch it since, together with the memory of the beast clawing at me, the pain also returned. With vengeance.

*  
*  
*  
*

**Geralt**

The bard makes a surprised sound, staring at the blood-soaked finery. 

_'Blood stains on velvet,'_ I hear Jaskier's voice groan in my mind, and I know that his clothes are as good as ruined - Jaskier complained about it often enough - and I hate myself a little for it. I don't care about the bard's clothing - _any_ bard's clothing to be exact - so really, why does my mind fixate on this unimportant little detail?

"Oh," the bard says again before I can say anything else, and he's out like a candle.

 _At least, Jaskier doesn't faint at the sight of blood_ , I think before admonishing myself for it. There's really no reason to compare any bard with my bard... not that he's _my_ bard - he's the bard that's following me… that is… -

Quickly, I crouch down to inspect the wound. It's not too deep, no artery hit or anything important. He'll be fine in a few days. Carefully, I sling the man's lute over my shoulder, mindful of the sword on my back, and then reach under him to pull him up. It seems I have no choice but to carry him.

Absently, I note that the bard is much lighter than Jaskier - not that I carry Jaskier around that often. His build is smaller, reaching up to my shoulders at most, slight with narrow shoulders - Jaskier's are much broader... not that I'm comparing or anything... I mean, I can't help but notice how muscular my the bard is under all that brightly-coloured clothing with that adorable chesthair peeking out from under his chemise...

 _Wait_. 

It's not adorable. Not at all. 

I'm a Witcher, I don't use words like _adorable_. 

I only watched Jaskier because I have to know my enemies, always vigilant and all that. Right. And I've seen him punch a guy in bar brawls, so I know these muscles aren't for show....

The dark-haired bard groans again when I lift him over my shoulder to carry him fireman style back to the village. It isn't far. I have Roach waiting at the edge of the forest, and, from there, it's maybe another fifteen minutes by horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:
> 
> *waves* Hi, I'm back. I hope y'all spotted the HP reference there :)
> 
> Teaser for the next chapter: Valdo is confused... and a little horny^^ And Geralt is... Geralt.
> 
> Abraxas:
> 
> AHHH!!!! NO SPOILERS YOUR MAJESTY!!!! X(
> 
> *whispers* As you can see I'm not alone here anymore...X0


	5. Vanilla and Copper

**Valdo**

I'm floating. In a strange rhythmical way. My eyes flutter open. Fuzzy at first, but when my vision clarifies, I see... the ground? Moving? This doesn't help the fuzziness. I also see my scratched up dangling arms…. 

And blood. 

_ Oh no.  _

I remember what happened! 

I probably would’ve fallen to the uneven, muddy earth under me if it hadn’t been for someone carrying me. I feel a strong arm holding my legs to make sure I don't fall off, like a sack of potatoes. Looking up, my head slightly dizzy, I make sure it's actually still my mystery knight, and not some beast wanting to cook and devour me… or - and I shudder to think about it - to commit all the other gruesome things I remember monsters do to people.

So many questions are swirling in my head; yet, before I get to say anything, my stomach growls loudly. I should have used that food finding skills of my mothers at some point...

I'm glad the knight can't see my face for I feel the dreaded heat raising into my cheeks.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I feel the exact moment the bard regains consciousness. His heartbeat speeds up, his breathing falters, and then his stomach growls. The vanilla smell of embarrassment tinges the air, and I almost grin at myself. Another bard who's useless at finding food in the wild. I should've guessed.

"Can you walk?" I ask.

*

*

*

*

**Valdo**

So he knows I'm awake... well,  _ fuck _ . Unsure how to answer, I look down and, for the first time, notice the magnificent curve of this man's behind moving with each step. This is distracting, and my throat feels a little dry. I’m not sure if it’s from the stress and dehydration, or... because of this unexpected well-muscled sight.

"Uhmm... I'm not sure.  _ But _ !" Huh, and what a butt! I almost snicker at my own thoughts, but then regain my focus. "It  _ is  _ rather comfortable here... aaaand not so bloody?" I add hopefully, unwilling to see myself bleeding out. Although I am, in fact, unsure about the walking.

*

*

*

*   


**Geralt**

I heave a long-suffering sigh. I almost made it to Roach anyway - I can already hear her impatient snorts - so I might carry the bard the rest of the way. 

His smell, however, is a little disconcerting. Vanilla-embarrassment and copper-blood and... something spicy I can't place. It's neither pain nor fear, so that's okay.

Within a few minutes, we make it to Roach, and I throw the bard rather unceremoniously over the saddle. 

"Hold on," I say, taking Roach's reins, and begin walking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas:  
> Hope ya’ll enjoy! BUT(T), consider leaving us a comment! :D We ARE curious what you think of this mess so far? :D How do you like my take on Valdo so far? ^3^V
> 
> Also I love Geralt's perceprion of scent! *swoons*


	6. An Exercise in Acrobatics

**Valdo**

The man doesn’t answer, walking in silence for a few more moments. A pity really, that voice of his is... unusual and fascinating, so unlike all the other sounds of this world. It appears to grind the air itself with the rough vibration piercing everything, including flesh and bone. 

Then, out of nowhere, I’m flung - just like a potato sack after all - through the air, landing on a ... horse? 

"Ooof..."

The ease with which he just threw me like I weigh nothing is astounding. He could probably snap me like a twig without breaking a sweat if he wanted to. For some reason that doesn’t scare me. It probably should... but... it is... interesting. Yes,  _ interesting _ . 

The horse is nice, too. The only problem… I’ve never had the opportunity to learn how to ride one. No better time than the present, though. I try to swing one of my legs onto the other side of the horse since that’s how it’s done… right? 

For some reason, however, I feel my body sliding down from the horse towards inevitable new bruises, while the horse begins walking. 

"Help...?" I utter in a small voice, so unlike my usual more husky one.

*

*

*

*

  
  
  


**Geralt**

Luckily, my body is still keyed up from the fight, and I manage to grab the bard before he slides to the ground. What was he doing there? Acrobatics? With a grunt, I lift him back on Roach, directing his hands to the strap at the front of the saddle and repeat, "Hold on. It's not far."

I turn my back to him again and hope we'll make it to the village in one piece. Bards must magically attract danger. Because I can't count the times Jaskier stumbled accidentally - and quite literally - over a monster. At least, this bard is not as chatty as Jaskier.

"Your leg will be fine," I say after a few metres because the movement of the horse jostles his wound, and I imagine that it must hurt. "It's already stopped bleeding."

*

*

*

*

  
  
  


**Valdo**

Instead of the hard ground, it's the arms of the stranger that save me again. I feel relieved, but also a little flustered by all the manhandling.

The white-hair makes sure I have a proper grip on the horse this time, which unfortunately doesn't help me relax as I hold on for dear life, wincing at the thought of having to land on my still hurting leg.

Out of the blue, he speaks up, reassuring me. I hope he is right, I didn't get a proper look at the wound myself. I sigh in relief, not daring to look up for fear of losing my balance. 

My body aches and I realise that something is missing. My eyes widen. 

"My lute!" I exclaim panicked, and look around without thinking, spotting the instrument hanging from the stranger’s shoulder. 

A short moment of distraction makes my body move on the horse in a scary way, so I quickly flatten myself along the horse and hold the saddle tightly. 

When I look up again the stranger's eyes - are they glowing slightly? - are on me, his face unreadable, the moonlight casting harsh shadows on it, making him look like a moving statue made out of alabaster. 

"Be careful please... it's very fragile."

He doesn't answer, but I could swear he’s shaking his head when turning his gaze back forwards. 

"What is your name, white-hair?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas:
> 
> We'll get to that Inn... eventually. XD   
> *leaves a box full of fluffy hugs out with the sign on it reading 'FREE HUGS!'*


	7. The White Wolf

**Geralt**

"What is your name, white-hair?" the bard asks.  


I’ve been wondering when we’d come to that. Thanks to Jaskier, more and more people recognised me now, if not by looks then by name. 

Still I say, "Geralt. Of Rivia." and wait for the inescapable outrage of being saved by a Witcher, a monster, a mutant - the Butcher of Blaviken.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Valdo**

"What...? THE Geralt of Rivia?" I sit up a little at the name, my body leaning forward despite myself. I wish he was closer, I wish I could look at his face. Preferably with a little bit more light.

"The famous White Wolf?" I brace myself for it just being a joke... but I want it to be true. As much as I despise that idiot Pankratz, I’ve heard the stories about his Witcher, and couldn't help but be entranced by them.

*

*

*

*

  
  
  


**Geralt**

No disgust, then. Curious. Instead, I receive... excitement? That's unexpected but not unwelcome. Even though I could do without that blasted nickname Jaskier coined for me, I swear. Every time I return to Kaer Morhen, there's another prank-surprise waiting for me. 

Once, Eskel commissioned a charmed trinket that would sing "Toss a Coin to your Witcher" whenever I entered my bedchambers. Another time, I found the fur of a White Wolf on my wall - this one was actually nice. It must've taken Lambert _ages_ to track down such a rare animal. I'm not even sure it counts as a prank. 

The next winter, my brothers would only reply in lines that would somehow tie back to the song, like "Is that new scar from a silver tongued-devil?" or "can you thrust the Verbena far back on the shelf?" That winter I came very close to murdering them all. _Very_ close.

"A friend of Jaskier's, master bard?" I ask, looking back at him over my shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:
> 
> Wanna start a game of "spot the TAD references", folks? They are minimal but *there*. I swear, sometimes they're not even intentional, and then I think... damn, that's from "King" or whatever.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments <3 Just a short chapter to hopefully brighten your day!


	8. Nightshade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nachtschatten means Nightshade in German.

**Valdo**

"Friend?!" I scoff. This is offensive; however, the man saved my life, so I'll forgive him. I straightened back up on the horse, my head held up high.

"That talentless quisby? Not in a million years!" I exhale the air loudly through my nose at the thought of...  _ him _ . Yes, I may find his Witcher interesting, but that doesn’t mean I liked that so-called `bard` any more than all those years back in Oxenfurt. 

The mere mention of his stupid nickname is almost making me feel something akin to pain. I don’t want to think OR hear of him.  _ Ever again _ . 

"Not everyone who calls themselves a bard knows all the other bards, I'll have you know," I add. Well, so what if I  _ am  _ a little bit salty.

*

*

*

*

  
  
  


**Geralt**

"Hm."

It seems this bard didn't get along with Jaskier. Does he also find his incessant chatting annoying? 

"Who are you, master bard?" I ask.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Valdo**

Master Bard. He isn't wrong, but this… flattery  _ is  _ unusual. Nice even. I feel the corners of my mouth rise slightly against my will. 

Yet, I’ll not be swayed by compliments! No person who’s willing to endure the company of one Julian Pankratz for so long can be any good. 

On the other hand, Geralt does seem nice. And respectful... 

No! I needn't get attached to what will unmistakably result in toxicity. 

"I am known as  _ Nachtschatten _ ." When he looks at me, I slightly bow my head, with as much dignity as possible while clutching the saddle. 

"And I have yet to thank you properly, however, I'd like to do so face to face, and not while the danger of falling down from this magnificent animal is neigh."

*

*

*

*

  
  
  


**Geralt**

_ Nachtschatten _ ? I almost throw the bard a sceptical look, but I refrain. Bards and their stupid flower names.

"Hm," I say. "No need to thank me. Killing monsters is my job."

I can see the lights of the town far ahead and blow a sigh of relief. The hunt wasn't taxing, but now that the adrenaline has worn off, I feel drained.

I hope Jaskier will have drawn a bath for me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas:
> 
> *sighs contentedly* What a time this was, everything was still so simple... *grins evilly* Hope you enjoy for there is a storm coming on in the distance, but probably a little different one than you might expect X3 But first some more bard-confused Geralt and a tired Valdo I guess? :P
> 
> *happily throws flowers at anyone who shows up*


	9. A Matter of Payment

**Valdo**

"Maybe killing monsters  _ is  _ your job, but you still get paid for it, right? And I’m sure no one paid you for saving my life..." I trail off a little at the end, wondering if I'd really need to pay the Witcher. I should probably. 

"I... I don't have that much I could give you, I fear, but my thanks,” I add. “However, if you require something more substantial... I'll do my best."

I feel nervous making such an open offer to a stranger. A famous stranger but a stranger, nonetheless. It’s the right thing to do, though. I know there are plenty of people out there not caring for what befell others. And a Witcher's life can’t be easy. 

Pankratz aside, the way the people are talking about them makes you think they’re worse than monsters and not the heroes that I believe them to be.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

I turn my head around this time. Why would I demand payment in whatever form for basic kindness?

"Hm," I reply, at a loss for words.

Bards are weird. 

Besides, Nachtschatten looked a little tight on coin... And food actually, judging by the rumble of his stomach.

"We're almost there," I say. "We have a room in the inn in the town up ahead."

*

*

*

*

**Valdo**

He looks at me almost as if I were some new kind of curious monster, yet to be classified. It’s unsettling. 

_ Wait.  _

"We?" I echo. So he isn't alone. 

Oh no, please don't tell me …

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I frown at him. "Jaskier and I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess: 
> 
> Another installment of our RPG, yey!   
> Alternative title for this one: Bards are weird.  
> Because they are, right? Right?


	10. Does the Name Valdo Marx Ring a Bell?

**Valdo**

"Jaskier and I,” the Witchers says.

I swear colourfully. 

"Perhaps you should’ve left me to die after all..." I mutter quietly to myself, considering  _ actually  _ climbing down from the horse and running away. But the Witcher... Geralt, has my lute. 

_ Life hates me _ ! 

I bow my head, unable to hide it in my hands, my curly mane concealing my face from the world. 

Maybe I could borrow one of these Witcher swords and just  _ stab  _ Pankratz. That'd probably solve all of my problems.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

I turn to look back to the road while the bard mutters angrily to himself. From his response, I gather that he doesn't like Jaskier all that much. Understandable. Jaskier is annoying, and chatty, and loud, and bubbling over with happiness, and quite smart actually, and...

Um, yes. Well. So... 

Maybe it's also some sort of professional rivalry. 

My mind makes a sudden connection, and I remember Jaskier's wishes...

"Does the name Valdo Marx ring a bell?" I ask him, and remembering how susceptible the bard was to flattery, I force myself to add. "Heard he's the famous troubadour of Cidaris."

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Valdo**

My head snaps up at the Witcher’s gravelly voice casually mentioning my birth name. 

Ignoring my bouncing raven-black locks, I ask "How do you know that name?" 

I squint at him suspiciously because I'm sure Julian wouldn't call me famous. I can’t imagine him mentioning me  _ at all _ , to be honest, the way he was always wrapped in his own head, which, in turn, seemed to be stuck in his arse most of the time.

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

"Passed through there looking for contracts," I reply, which is true. 

"I could never afford the inns that bard played in." Which is also true. And the fact that Jaskier avoided that town like it had the plague, but Nachtschatten doesn’t need to know that. By the way his heartbeat sped up and anxiety seeped into his smell, I’ve already received my answer anyway. 

This  _ is  _ Valdo Marx. Jaskier’s archenemy. 

_ Curious _ . 

I imagined him to be less... Well, different. Since Jaskier got along with monsters so well and felt no fear when a Witcher growled at him, I thought this Valdo must truly be a horrible human being. 

But so far, he seems nicer than most humans I've met. Polite. Friendly. He didn't fear me when I stood with a blood dripping sword in front of him, and he even thanked me for helping him, offering recompense. Most humans would scream bloody murder, throw some stones at me, and run for the hills...

Well, anyway. I'm not sure it's a good idea to bring those two together. But what kind of a choice do I have? The man is hurt. And hungry. He must've been truly desperate to be in the forest at night. Desperate... 

Or  _ stupid _ . 

_ Or  _ there was something else going on that I don’t know about?

"What were you doing in the forest at night?" I ask, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:
> 
> Me loves suspicious Geralt. Meeting a mysterious stranger in the forest... that should ring the alarm bells even for Witchers. What do you think? Is there more going on than it seems?
> 
> (Stay tuned and find out in the next installment)


	11. Descend or Fall

**Valdo**

Geralt's heard of my true name by chance? That seems… unlikely, but sometimes coincidences happen. Still, it makes me feel on edge. The hunger and exhaustion were already taking a toll on me before, but then, I had more pressing matters on my mind than searching for food. 

"What were you doing in the forest at night?" The Witcher’s question startles me a little. 

"Uhmm... I was lost in thought, and then it was suddenly night, and ... well, that… ehmm...  _ creature  _ started chasing me?" 

Oh gods, this sounded even more embarrassing out loud - the eloquence of an oaf, not a master bard.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I stop Roach and turn around. We almost reached the entrance of the town, and the light of a torch illuminates Nachtschatten’s face.

"You were  _ lost in thought _ ?" I repeat incredulously. Something like that could kill a Witcher. I can't fathom how anybody can be this  _ careless _ . 

But well, years with Jaskier have taught me that everything is possible with bards.

*

*

*

*

**Valdo**

I sigh. Yeah, not the best impression I could make. 

"I- I... have an important decision to make. A difficult one," I admit in a small voice because answering the white-hair is the least I can do after his help. 

However, Geralt doesn't have to know everything, especially with Pankratz being his buddy and all that. 

I didn't even realise that the horse stopped until I notice the Witcher’s expectant look. 

Oh. Time to descend. 

Or fall. 

I look down nervously and take a deep breath, bracing myself for what’s to come. 

Maybe I'd break my neck while getting off the horse. That'd spare me so many things. But Della... my little Dell, I couldn't do that to her. She deserves better. I just have to find the strength to provide that for her. 

And so I swing my leg over the horse’s back, trying to climb down.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

Suddenly, the bard attempts to dismount, clutching at Roach's saddle helplessly, and I quickly put a steadying hand on his back before he can fall face-first into the mud.

_ An important decision _ , he said. I don't ask further because I don't put my nose in things where it doesn't belong. At least, I'm reasonably sure that he wasn't preparing a demonic ritual in the forest to awaken some old god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:
> 
> Soooo, no demonic ritual then. But Valdo's not without secrets, it seems...
> 
> One more chapter, and then - entrance for our third character: Jaskier! <3 Stay tuned!


	12. It’s The Bloodloss For Sure

**Valdo**

I'm bracing myself for an ungraceful plunge down when a big, warm hand is placed on my back, stabilising me. 

I'm not sure how to feel about that. It’s pleasant, and yet, I should remember that I don't know this man, and my experiences with strangers getting close to me were... non-ideal more often than not. 

Still, something akin to a blush rises to my cheeks while I concentrate on reaching safe ground, very aware of the hand on my back. 

I succeed in not landing too forcefully on my hurt leg. Well, in a way. This amount of movement already causes pain to flare up my shin, and I hiss.

Apparently, I appear a little wobbly on my legs since the Witcher switches from supporting my back to holding my shoulders. I don't think I’d have fallen again, but it is still very sweet, so, once the pain subsides to normal a moment later, I look up at him. 

He’s almost a head taller, looking down at me with an unreadable, stony expression. I smile a little. 

"Thank you... Geralt"

Now, from up close, I can see yellow cat-eyes shine in the moonlight. Everything about him seems to shine, from these eyes and the white hair up to his pale skin marred by scars.

On the spur of the moment - surely as a result of tiredness induced boldness - I blurt out, “Are all the Witchers this beautiful, or is it just you? "

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I stare at Nachtschatten. Just a second ago, he smelled of apprehension, but now the vanilla scent is back with full force. It must be the blood loss – this man is clearly deluded – because Witchers are  _ not  _ beautiful. Has he noticed the scars? Does he see the monster’s eyes? 

He must’ve been chased by the werewolf longer than I thought.

The bard averts his eyes, and I can feel his muscles tense underneath my hand. Quickly, I prepare to draw back, but then he sways, almost falling again, and I quickly steady him. 

“Come on, bard. Let’s get you to the inn,” I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:
> 
> Did you realise only about one hour's passed since the beginning of this fanfic? WOW! We needed like 12 chapters to get to the bloody inn!!   
> On the bright side, though - - - JASKIER WILL APPEAR NEXT CHAPTER! <3


	13. A Pathetic Scream

**Valdo**

The Witcher lets me go for a moment and it turns out I'm really not very firm on my feet, but, before I lose my balance, he has his arm around my waist to support me. 

I can barely keep my eyes open, so I just let him lead me, leaning my head on his shoulder.

A tired sigh escapes my lips.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Slowly, we make our way through the gates, the guards shooting me askew glances but staying silent. Nachtschatten leans heavily on me, and I have to keep at least half my attention on keeping him from falling to the floor. I guess I know who will sleep on the floor tonight. This bard needs sleep, and fast.

We make it to the inn just when the bell strikes midnight. Reluctantly, I hand Roach over to a stable boy, and carrying my weapons, the saddle bags, a lute and the bard, I shoulder the inn-door open. Warm air and the smell of ale and unwashed human welcomes me, and I grimace.

At least, the inn is half empty, only a few drunk patrons remain, staring into their mugs. I nod at the inn-keeper and drag the half-asleep bard up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to open the door to my and Jaskier's room, an explanation already ready on my lips, when the door is ripped open.

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

My lute, leaning against the bed, is humming with the echo of the screams of the innʼs guests. She whispers the curses thrown by the lads I met out there before. She shudders at the sound of the footsteps carried by the wooden floor, letting me know that someoneʼs coming.

She screams pathetically, sliding, meeting with the floor, when I stand up abruptly, opening the door. 

I always knew we were connected. A pathetic scream is, indeed, the most adequate reaction I could think of...

I’m used to the witcher coming back with the head of a horrifying monster, decidedly _not_ used to him coming back with a hurt human-like being, falling asleep while standing.

Besides, it’s never before happened that the human-like being is so uncomfortably familiar…

“Geralt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> Entrance, Jaskier. Tadaaaaa! Please welcome Kinga (Blue Furious Welly Boots) in our midst. <3  
> Stay tuned for more Jaskier :)


	14. The Persistent Rascality

**Valdo**

The sudden motion of the opening door startles me back to attention. My body’s ready to run, just in case, yet still half-leaning on the Witcher.

The smell of a mellow, flowery perfume hits me in the face. I look up, but the soft, warm light from inside the room veils the man in front of me and Geralt in shadows. I can only see the tall silhouette of a man with broad shoulders.

I don't need to see him clearly, however, for I know who this man is and his perfume is the only thing pleasant about him. 

"Pankratz." I say, too tired to be as disdainful as I'd like, yet too awake to skip the displeasure.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Tension radiates off Jaskier and Nachtschatten both, and it makes me edgy so shortly after a hunt. Tension means danger means being ready to fight off any monsters that might attack. But Nachtschatten still leans heavily on me, and with the many bags I'm carrying, I'm in no state to fight - and that makes me even more uncomfortable. 

Of course, the conscious part of my mind knows that there's no danger. There's no fear in the air, just... apprehension.

Surprise is painted on Jaskier's features, which quickly morphs into something I'd almost call hate - an emotion completely unfamiliar coming from Jaskier, and it makes my chest constrict. Before my friend can say anything or slam the door in our faces, I step forward, shouldering past Jaskier and into the room. The perfume smell of Jaskier that permeates the place is soothing, and the bright fire radiating warmth lets some of the tension drain from my companion, which in turn calms me as well. 

"Sit," I say to Nachtschatten and place him on a chair next to the fire. 

"What the fuck, Geralt?" Jaskier exclaims behind me, and without looking, I know the indignant expression on his face and the posture of his body - hands on the hips - and I know he will launch into a tirade that could go on until morning if I'm not stopping it.

"I found him in the woods being chased by a werewolf," I explain and crouch down to inspect the hurt leg again. "He was hurt, bleeding, and passed out. So I took him with me."

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

"Poor thing. Even a werewolf did not fancy his howling?"

As Geralt adjusts an instrument resting on his shoulder, I look once again at Marx, who is pitifully sitting on the chair. He’s the same tiny and inconspicuous bastard I remember from Oxenfurt. Or perhaps tried _not_ to remember.

“One bard more wonʼt make a difference.”

Unless it does. The witcher knows it. The witcher usually just knows. However, this time he does not know — why Jaskier is so close to madness and who the second bard _actually_ is.

"I promised an encore to the audience," I mumble, taking the lute.

"The court’s audience is waiting, Pankratz." I hear from behind me while drunk curses resound through the opened door... 

...and I’m wondering how the rascality that he has in his blood persists, even after he almost bled out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess  
> *waves*
> 
> Abraxas:   
> *bardiness intensifies*


	15. Fragile Trust

**Valdo**

The Witcher almost drags me inside the room, past the exasperated-looking idiot who calls himself a bard. He plants me on a chair, looking at the wound on my leg. It's been a while since I've been hurt like that, but I'd rather the Witcher just believed that I fainted at the sight of my own blood, than let him know the whole truth about what that Werewolf encounter did to me. I still feel so rattled, yet I can’t let my guard down. Not in front of a stranger and most definitely not in front of my most hated person on the whole Continent.

A part of me wants to protest and tries to remind me of some better candidates for that, but I squish them immediately. 

Julian seems to swell from the outrage of seeing me, his voice getting higher with emotion. He was always bad at hiding them, I never understood how he could fool anyone. As if there weren't enough annoying things about that man. 

Geralt's answer to his companion is simple, yet makes me feel softer than it has any business to. Not as soft, however, as the realisation of how tenderly he’s tending to my wound.

My treacherous heart seems to skip a beat. This stranger doesn’t have to help me in the slightest, and now has he not only invited me to his chamber, bringing the rage of his travel companion down onto himself, but he’s also… so  _ gentle  _ in his care. No one, apart from my family, showed me as much consideration in that regard. 

I feel more warmth spread through my chest, and I relax a little more, too tired to fully process this situation or control my thoughts and feelings to the extent I’m used to. 

I ignore the other 'bard’s' condescending words. 

The Witcher’s words, however, almost make me snort. “One bard more wonʼt make a difference.” 

The silly exhaustion-induced thought of a Witcher with the hobby of collecting bards comes to mind. Quickly, my true worst enemy, which is my mind, twists that brief happiness into a more sinister scenario. I hastily focus on Pankratz again, who seems unsure... even a little hurt by Geralt’s reply?

_ Nah _ . He’s just sulking for sure. 

"The court's audience is waiting, Pankratz." I spit out as spitefully as I can, channeling the usual hate for this fool, now additionally fueled by the negative emotions lingering at the edges of my consciousness.

Pankratz just shoots me a hateful look before leaving to do what’s surely to be a grand performance… for tasteless  _ idiots _ . The important thing, though, is that he  _ leaves _ .

I release a quiet sigh of relief when it’s only Geralt and I again. The Witcher turns away to retrieve something from one of his bags, almost ignoring me. It’s fine - way better than if he were overly interested, right?  _ That  _ never bodes well for me.

Part of me knows I should be wary of this new acquaintanceship, but it feel so warm and safe here, and I’m so tired. Physically and mentally alike. I lean back on the chair, my messy curls falling away from my face. Even if something bad were to happen now, I wouldn't be able to do anything about it - least of all against a  _ Witcher _ . From what I've heard and read. they are superhuman after all...

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

The animosity between Jaskier and Nachtschatten bothers me, but I don’t know either of them or their shared history well enough to know if it’s justified. Jaskier is my sea of calm, my respite from the hatred thrown at me, and the negative feelings pouring off him upset and sadden me. Jaskier’s anger and contempt settle under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch, a nervousness I can’t shake. I desperately want to make it alright again, but short of throwing Valdo out, there’s nothing I can do at the moment. 

Carefully, I deposit my bags and the lute in a corner to give myself a moment to breathe and gather myself. The relationship between Nachtschatten and Jaskier is something I can’t fix, can’t micro-manage, even though I want to – if only to see Jaskier smile again. I don’t like it when Jaskier is mad at me, and I have the feeling that I can’t fix this with a cooked rabbit.

And Nachtschatten... I know that most people would leave me to bleed out if they encountered me hurt in the woods, but something tells me that this bard would maybe,  _ possibly _ , try to help me. There’s something fragile in the trust he’s shown me, and it touches me. It’s different from Jaskier’s trust since my friend simply doesn’t see the monster that I am. But I know now that Nachtschatten sees it,  _ oh,  _ he sees it all – the strength, the danger, the scars – and he’s rightfully wary of it, tensing imperceptibly whenever I touch him... but weirdly enough, he doesn’t run away screaming. He trusts me enough to take care of his wound, to take care of him, exhausted as he is, despite the danger I pose... which takes incredible courage.

So, I can’t throw him out or fail the trust shown in me... and I can’t fix their history... so I will have to try to fix their present. Because I don’t want Jaskier to hate me, to hate anybody, and so far, Valdo doesn’t seem like an evil person.

Determined, I return to Nachtschatten, cleaning and bandaging his wound with swift but gentle movements, my touch never lingering longer than necessary. He seems to be dozing off again, and I clear my throat. 

“Do you want to eat something before you sleep? I only have some bread, though...” I trail off, unsure of how to behave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: I love soft and caring Geralt so much *wipes away a tear*


	16. Before It Turns Sour

**Valdo**

I startle slightly when Geralt starts cleaning and bandaging my wound, but I manage to keep the shiver at bay. I must have dozed off a little. His gentle touches make me incredibly emotional, and I have to press my lips together and close my eyes in the hopes to prevent any possible tears. I'm just too exhausted to play any role convincingly. 

The Witcher quietly asks me a question, and I have to collect myself for a moment, not trusting myself to not just let it all out. After all these years, it seems like the memories and feelings from the past threaten to overwhelm me, wanting to pour out any second. They were buried deep, yet have awakened now that I find myself in a situation that'll make me revisit them first hand. 

No. I can't let that happen. It takes all my will to straighten up in the chair. 

"I-I cannot take your food.." My voice betrays me, but I push on, and it stabilises a little. 

"I mean, you helped me so much already without asking for anything in return. There are no words to express my gratitude, I fear." The corners of my mouth rise up in a weak yet genuine smile. "In fact, I think I'm overstaying my welcome as it is. I should go." I nod a little too energetically, making my curls bounce wildly and my head spin slightly. Regardless, I attempt to stand up. No reason to linger too long, before the good experience turns sour.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

The bard tries to rise from his chair but sways, and I catch his elbow just in time. A full body flinch runs through him, and I clench my teeth. He should know better by now than to be afraid of me... but I can’t hold that against him. I’m a monster, after all. 

When I feel that he’s steady enough, I let go again.

“I’m not expecting to be repaid for kindness – except maybe with kindness itself,” I say as gently as I can, which still sounds like gravel on sandpaper. Kindness is a chain reaction, I found. A drop of it can dilute a lake of hate. “Please, eat and sleep.”

Nachtschatten swallows audibly, searching something in my gaze.

“Don’t undo all the work I had saving you by going out again at this hour and in this state,” I add a little more gruffly than I wanted to, but my voice is just that way.

His green eyes flicker to the bed, but he hesitates. “What about...” he begins but interrupts himself quickly, his gaze darting to the door. I know what he wants to say.  _ What about Jaskier? _

“Hm,” I offer after a moment because I’m not sure. We don’t have the coin for a second room. Surely, Jaskier would not deny Valdo this basic human decency? He’s better than that. “It’s fine,” I add, nodding towards the bed and resolving to talk to my friend. 

I can still hear Jaskier playing downstairs. I will just take off my armour and then go down to catch him before he comes back and everything explodes in my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Angst... angst everywhere! X0 *throws a comfy. purple blanket at ya*


	17. Like A Frightened Animal

**Valdo**

When the Witcher firmly catches me so that I don't fall, my body reacts more violently than expected. A flashback to a multitude of bruising hands zooms through my mind for a few seconds. 

I see the Witcher’s jaw clenching. I hurt him, huh? What a way to treat a life saviour. ' _ That's why you have no friends, you idiot. That and... other things. _ ' I suppress a grimace of my own. 

He lets go, and I don't fall. Maybe things won't get worse after all. Geralt's voice is as rough as before, but it is calm and... nice, there is no hatred or contempt in it. 

I look into those cat-eyes, which are so different from any other eyes I've seen, not because of their shape and colour, but because there’s kindness and worry in there. Not that ruthless cold that cuts like steel.

When he speaks again, his voice sounds even rougher, but there is still no anger present. I'm not sure what to do with that. Anger is familiar.  _ This _ … is not. I find it hard to say no, against my better judgement. 

"What about..." I can't make myself finish, the bitter memories of the terrible feud between Julian and I making me anxious. I can't cope with that now. However, I can't say  _ 'no'  _ to the Witcher after how I reacted. And I desperately want to believe him that it'll be fine.  _ 'I'm fine, I always am.'  _

The anxiety, though, presses me to speak with a vulnerability I dread, and I expect it to be used against me. 

"I... I'm sorry. About before. I just... it's nothing personal. It... happens sometimes." I stutter quietly, not finding myself able to hold his gaze. 

That was more than I ever offered anyone before and the anxiety of that realisation demands of my body to run. I'm an expert at denying my body and my mind what it wants however.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I draw my brows together, staring at the bard intently. He’s...  _ apologising _ . But for what exactly? –

Having to be saved from a werewolf, probably. 

But wait... 

_ That happens sometimes? _ Does that mean he loiters around in dark woods often? And why exactly does he apologise to me about that?

“No need to apologise,” I grunt, turning around to unbuckle my shoulder pieces.

My armour lands with a heavy clank on the floor and suddenly, I’m exhausted. This hunt was quick, but the potions always take their toll. I sigh heavily, removing the last piece of armour. I’d give my right hand for a hot bath... well, maybe not my right hand - my right glove, maybe. And I’d probably  _ have  _ to sacrifice it because we have no coin left. No bath for this Witcher.

I sigh again, rubbing over my face tiredly. When I turn around, Nachtschatten still stands on the exact same spot, kept upright purely by willpower, looking at me expectantly. Something in his gaze makes my skin crawl. His green eyes are guarded, as if he believes I’ll attack him if he blinks.

“Sleep,” I tell him then. “I will talk with Jaskier and then go sleep in the stables.” 

Maybe fear of the werewolf and exhaustion clouded his judgement before, but now I can practically sense his need to run from me like a frightened animal. I don’t want to be – no, I  _ hate  _ to be the cause of that fear. He should be able to sleep in peace. 

I don’t wait for an answer, just turn towards the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> Sorry for the long wait *waves*


	18. Wrapped Up In Emotions

**Valdo**

The Witcher starting to drop his armour makes that irrational panic in me rise. It'll end like it always does, after all. 

No.  _ Nonono _ ... I force myself to take a deep breath. Then, he mentions something about sleeping in the stables and that finally snaps me out of it. 

"Wait... You don't have to sleep in the stables, it's your room. Please... don't leave because of me," I say, looking at his broad back. He pauses for a moment, waiting. 

I add quietly - more to myself than to him, "Besides, Jaskier might just kill me in my sleep if we're here alone..." And it's very likely not even an exaggeration.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

I stare at Nachtschatten for a long moment. I can’t deny the truth of his words... Jaskier did try to kill him before. With a djinn’s wish that didn’t work – but he  _ did  _ try. So maybe the bard is right. Even though I refuse to believe that my friend can be violent enough to murder a person in cold blood out of spite or hatred. Jaskier isn’t a monster – not even one in human form. He’s kind and joyful and tends to get wrapped up deeply in his emotions, may they be love or hate.

Not for the first time, I wonder what has happened between the both of them that they hate each other so violently.

“Hm,” I answer. “Fine. I’ll stay...” I’m not entirely sure the bard will feel much safer in my presence – I mean,  _ I  _ could murder him in his sleep if I were the emotionless killer humans make me out to be. And a part of Valdo must believe these rumours, judging by his reactions.

The bard nods, sitting shakily down on the bed, which I take as acceptance and turn to leave the chamber. Jaskier is still in the middle of a song when I reach the main room of the tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> Just a short one to hopefully sweeten your day! :* Next one will be longer... aaaaaand Jaskier will be back!


	19. The Devil and The Fallen Star

**Valdo**

The Witcher agrees to stay and I feel relieved. Funny how I am more afraid of some pompous twit, than the generally feared monster hunter. 

I fall to the side, barely pulling my legs up onto the bed. My head lands on the pillow and I feel the exhaustion of the day and night overtake me. As my eyes close, I mumble quietly, probably too quietly to be heard, "Good night Geralt..."

Then, I drift away into the land of dreams.

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

As I leave the room, I take a deep breath. Burning heat churns in my insides, consuming thoughts and words I wanted to say but didn’t want to go to waste. That is exactly the thing poor souls feel when they love. Or hate. If they love, the heat is just like a fire in the middle of the cold, dark night. If they hate - hate deeply - they hold all hell inside.

Besides, itʼs not that hard to mistake those flames. Nobody said that the lovely fire cannot turn into hell.

I sigh when the innkeeper throws a purse with coins at me. “Master Jaskier, good man!” Greetings like that are not very common. Instead of thanking fate on my knees for not being bruised by thrown potatoes and bread, I grimace. 

“ _ 'Jaskier' _ ? Do you - like, for real - want them to call you  _ 'Jaskier' _ ? Pankratz, no offense, but that is hilarious! Whoʼs gonna take you seriously?,” repeats a voice in my head.

The coins scatter across the floor and fall into the gaps between the boards. 

“I thought... Bars- Ba- Bea-  _ Bards _ , you know, they - they have good reflexes. You know... All those chords of yours... You know... You...” the innkeeper stutters.

“Iʼll pick them up. Later,” I say as the innkeeper, hopelessly drunk - as far as I can deduce - tries to bend down. 

“I tossed a coin, indeed, you know? Thatʼs what happened,” he snorts with an unhealthy, hoarse laugh. 

I go to the stage, beginning to sing, and the songs are just flowing around me, not through me, I feel. As if they were not coming from my own throat, which is consumed by the merciless flames of anger. 

There’s only one person in the room who does not fancy the notes and lines, vexed by the premonition of nightmarish changes.  _ Me _ . 

So I finish early. And with all my flames, I return to hell.

As I open the door, it turns out that the devil is visiting Paradise at the moment. He sleeps. Only the star fallen from the heavens, his hair illuminated by the moonlight, stays awake for some reason, holding a bundle of paper in his hand.

“Once again...” I start. 

“Not here.” Geralt looks at me imploringly with his feline eyes and, apparently, the flames are coming out of my ears. “Give him a few hours. There are two sentences in this pamphlet where he didn’t paint you as the worst shit,” the witcher says, putting the booklet down.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Jaskier is submerged so deeply in his performance that he doesn’t notice me – which is a difficult feat since the room goes eerily quiet the moment I enter. He plucks at the strings with a ferocity that threatens to snap them at any moment, and I can smell his anger from here.

Okay, so maybe this was a bad idea. I don’t want him screaming at me in the middle of a full tavern. I should just let him work it out of his system and talk when he’s finished playing. 

My mind made up, I return to our room on silent feet. Nachtschatten is under so deep that he doesn’t even twitch when I close the door. Dark curls fall over his face and he has the blanket protectively wrapped up to his chin.

Sighing, I sit down on the single chair and begin to inspect my armour and sword. By the time I’m finished, Jaskier is still playing angrily, so I go over to my bags and unpack them to check everything and pack them again orderly. Valdo’s bag stands next to mine and I accidentally push against it, such that it falls over and some of its contents spill out to the floor. He’s left the latches unfastened. Damn.

I glance quickly at the sleeping bard, but he hasn’t moved. This feels like a breach of privacy, but I can hardly leave his stuff lying around. Kneeling on the floor, I refold the clothes and put them back inside and tuck the inkpot neatly into a corner. My fingertips brush against something pointy, and I draw back, staring at the tiny drop of blood leaking from my index finger. Peering into the bag, I find a simple set of knives – one steel, one silver – carelessly left unsheathed, just strapped to the side of the bag. So maybe this bard isn’t as defenceless as he looks.

Why would he carry a  _ silver  _ knife, though? Most humans weren’t prepared for the monsters lurking in the shadows.

Quickly, I push that train of thought aside. I have no business looking into his bag, and I certainly shall not make any assumptions based on what I find.

Hastily, I gather the last item, a leather-bound notebook, old and well-used by the look of it. There are some nasty scratches on the cover and one edge is bruised by a burn mark. Just when I’m about to tug it back, a loose sheet falls out and directly into my hands. 

_ Julian _ .

The name springs up at me, and I can’t help but read the rest of the scribbled words, even though I hadn’t intended to do that. My brain simply processed the words without my conscious permission.

It seemed to be a mixture of diary and poetry collection about no other than my dear friend Jaskier. Speaking of the devil... I hear his stomping steps approach the door, evidently still furious, and I look up at him, my face carefully blank when he enters.

“There are two sentences in here where he didn’t paint you as the worst shit.” I say, and in a vain attempt at being humorous, I add, “At least, I’m pretty sure there is no pimple the size of a plum on your ass.”

Jaskier splutters something inarticulate, which gives me time to quickly put the pages back into Valdo’s bag, before Jaskier can take them from me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Mysteries and Angst! *smiles proudly* Gotta love our boys ! X3 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoy this weirdness of ours (we most definitely have fun writing it X) )! Please leave us some love in the comments in these tough times. *streches out glittery demonic tentacles for proper loving hugs*


	20. Donʼt Be Yellow-bellied

**Jaskier**

“Come on! Show me the unpublished notes, Geralt! Maybe I'll learn something new about myself... Maybe Iʼve got seven toes or some rare disease. Hey! Iʼm curious!” I say, trying to get a piece of Valdoʼs shitty art in my hands. “Oh, if I could ask fate for one more jinny jinn, I wouldnʼt even —”

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

„Shut up, Jaskier,” I hiss, shooting him a glance that would melt a lesser man, but Jaskier, as usual, only blinks. Hastily, I close Valdo’s bags and push them under the table, far out of Jaskier’s reach. The sleeping bard hasn’t even stirred in all this commotion, which worries me a little, frankly speaking. But his heartbeat is steady, fast compared to a Witcher’s but probably just on average for a human. 

“He’s an asshole and I  _ hate  _ him,” Jaskier hisses back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

I wince a little at the aggressiveness in his voice and turn to unpack my bedroll from the bags. This is going nowhere.

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks then, a little quieter, finally catching on.

I sigh deeply. “What does it look like?” Carefully, I spread the roll out in front of the fire, then put Jaskier’s bedroll over it to have a thicker mattress.

“There’s a perfectly good bed over there,” the bard snaps. 

“Yes, and there’s someone sleeping in it who needs it more than I do,” I reply softly, looking back at Jaskier, pleading with him to understand.

He huffs, his gaze jumping to the unconscious Valdo, then back to me. I don’t know what he finds on my face, but something in his ice-blue eyes melts, turns warm. “Why do you have to be so...  _ so good _ ?” he asks very quietly, so quietly, in fact, I’m not sure I was meant to hear it.

So I don’t reply, just shuffle the blankets and bedrolls around a little until I’m satisfied they won’t catch fire during the night should I move in my sleep.

“I...” Jaskier sighs, putting his lute down on the table. “I don’t like it.”

“I know,” I reply. “But he’s hurt.”

Jaskier’s shoulders deflate, and he flops down on the chair, spreading his limbs in all directions. “I still hate him, but...” I look up at him, yet his gaze is on the sleeping man in the bed. “...but I’ll survive one night in his presence, I suppose.”

Something in my chest shifts, twists almost painfully, and there’s an emotion clogging my throat that I do not understand and that can’t be swallowed away. So I just hum and throw the bard his sleep-clothes. I know he’s doing this for me, although I refuse to believe that he’d have let Nachtschatten die in the forest.

“He’s gone tomorrow, though,” Jaskier warns me as if I had any influence on the man’s behaviour. I was not in the habit of adopting stray bards, they just randomly chose to stick around.

Still, I mumble in agreement, and Jaskier seems placated. Sitting on the floor, I take off my boots, and from the corner of my eyes, I can see Jaskier doing the same. The anger slowly fades from his scent, back to his usual honey and oak. Now that the next catastrophe is averted, I feel the exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks or one of Eskel’s  _ Aards _ . The potions have completely worn off, and I feel myself falling into that post-hunt state where my mind is still a little too alert to sleep yet, but my body needs the break. Normally, if we were at an inn, I’d take a bath, let Jaskier wash my hair and babble about this and that, hum a melody to soothe my mind – on a campsite, we’d do much the same, just without the bathing. 

But now... I will have to do with meditation. It’s not as good as sleep, but enough to let my body get some rest.

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

From the corner of my eyes, I can see Geralt taking his boots off. I will do the same, just let me take three deep breaths. I feel like the hellish fire is starting to dim.

Sleeping tonight will be harder.  _ Literally _ . And more painful.  _ Literally _ . Just like the feeling my disappointed neck will give me in the morning. 

I put my arm under my head, not sure if the hell, still smoldering, will allow me to fall asleep. 

_ Donʼt be yellow-bellied, Jaskier. He wonʼt get up to cut your throat. He wouldnʼt dare- _

_ Would he? _

_ Why are you so afraid, Jaskier? You see how comfortable your own elbow is? Close your eyes. Let at least them rest.  _

I know, Iʼll stay awake. 

I donʼt like it at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> Will anybody be murdered tonight? Mhmmm, what do you think guys?


	21. Sour and Rotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES A NIGHTMARE. More details in the note at the end. Please take care of yourselves.

**Valdo**

My harsh breathing echoes through the silence. A beast is chasing me. I don't see it, but I hear its snarls and the deafening sound of broken branches behind me, and I know what it is. 

I sprint as fast as I can through the misty forest, the bright moonlight doing nothing to help me stay hidden. It doesn't really matter, though, as the stench of my fear is surely giving me away. 

I run, ignoring the branches and bushes whipping my legs bloody. There is so much worse to come should I stop...

I run, hearing the monster’s growls and cracking of branches under what I know to be powerful clawed paws. They come closer and closer still. 

_ Inevitable _ .

I run, knowing there is no escape. Yet, the fear and the knowledge of what's to come fuels me.

I run. 

I fall. 

The whole world tumbles.

A row of sharp teeth looms above me, grinning mockingly, secure in the knowledge that the hunt is over. The tears streaming down my cheeks but a mere spice on what is about to become the monster's meal.

I close my eyes when the seemingly endless rows of pointy fangs lay themselves around my neck, like a terrifying necklace. A pitiful whine escapes my lips -

My eyes flash open again, and the forest is suddenly gone. The beast and I are trapped in a darkly lit room with no doors or windows, and the smell of dog, blood, and rot makes me gag. The ragged clothes I’d been wearing before in the forest are gone, and I realise with mounting panic that I’m completely  _ naked _ , without even a sliver of protection. The monster's hirsute body is pressing against my skin in an angry heat, rutting viciously. My whimpers turn into sobs as its claws start tearing at my flesh in the heat of its fervour.

" _ Please _ … no!" I utter between helpless sobs and pathetic whimpers. "Please,  _ stop _ ..."

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

I snap awake at an instant, only disoriented for half a second, a dagger in my hand before I consciously decide to grab it. An unfamiliar sound woke me, and the pungent stench of fear hangs so heavy in the air it chokes me.

My eyes fly through the room, finding Jaskier first, who fell asleep at the table instead of crawling into the other bed, the idiot. But his breathing is deep and even, and I can make out a trace of honey under the sour stench of fear.

The rest of the room is blessedly empty. No monster managed to sneak up on me in the night.

_ There  _ – the sound again. A whimper. A heartbeat too fast.

Smoothly, I leap to my feet after putting the dagger back under my pillow. No need to scare Nachtschatten even further. He seems to be caught in the vicious claws of a nightmare, his fear so intense I can almost taste it, sour and rotten on my tongue.

" _ Please… _ no..." he sobs almost too lowly for even my Witcher hearing, and pain slithers into his smell. Whatever he’s dreaming of, it’s hurting him. 

The fire is low, but my pupils are dilated and I make out his still from easily. He’s too still, almost frozen, and it makes a cold shiver run down my spine.

When Jaskier has a nightmare, he thrashes and screams and fights with all he has. When Eskel dreams of the Trials, though, he’s frozen, pinned down on that table, shackled, unable to move, and all he does is scream. It reminds me so strongly of my brother, of my own dreams, that I gag before I collect myself.

"Please,  _ stop _ ..." Valdo continues to beg, and I really don’t want to know what he’s dreaming of. It’s dangerous to wake him. With Eskel or Jaskier, I’d know what to do. My friend needs physical contact, wants to be held and hugged and spoken to until he calms. My brother wants to be touched, too, but just his hands. He’d burrow his nails into my arm until I bleed, and then we’d spar and – if in Kaer Morhen – go to the hot springs afterwards until he worked the nightmare out of his system.

Nachtschatten, however... I have the sneaking suspicion that touching would be a very,  _ very  _ bad thing to do. So I sit down on the floor next to the bed, purposefully smaller than him, unthreatening, and I begin speaking, “Valdo, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Valdo. Can you hear me?”

The bard sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes flying open, his muscles iron-stiff, but I continue talking, “You’re at an inn in Dillingen. You’re safe. The werewolf is gone. I killed him. Do you remember? You’re here with me, Geralt, the Witcher, and Jaskier...  _ Julian _ , I suppose.”

Nachtschatten sits up abruptly while I speak, his eyes wide, his hands lifted as if to protect himself from a blow, and when I say the word werewolf a whole-body shudder runs through him. So I was right in my suspicion – he was dreaming of the hunt. The shock and the fear must’ve caught up with him in his dreams. Most humans don’t handle monster encounters too well.

“Nobody will hurt you. You’re safe. Everything’s alright,” I continue speaking because, for Jaskier, it always helps when I speak, and Nachtschatten hasn’t bolted from the room yet or attacked me, so I think I’m not that far off the mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning disclaimer:  
> It inculdes great FEAR and a short, semi-graphic DESCRIPTION OF RAPE before the nightmare ends. There is the implication of past abuse in the form of scars and psychological reactions. 
> 
> Abraxas: Seriously beware. Skip Valdo's part if that is too much. And read Geralt's POV at your own discretion, there is still some potentially disturbing parts there.
> 
> Otherwise...
> 
> ...have fun? *leaves a box of fluffy blankets, a mug with hot cocoa and a pile of hugs out for grabs*
> 
> P.S: Just so you know, I did give Valdo a horrible past, but my goal is to hopefully help him work through it and get some love if things don't go a whole different route. BUT things might get worse before they can get better and they will most definitely be some hiccups there...  
> That being said... I want to believe Geralt and Jaskier will eventually contribute to some happiness for the little manace :D


	22. The Dread of Possibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Similarly to the chapter before, scars and allusions to past abuse

**Valdo**

The grip of the toothy maw around my neck tightens when something feels off, even in this already horrific scene. 

Did someone say my name? My  _ real  _ name? 

The claws are still tearing into my body, but that  _ voice…  _ it's calm. Gravelly, yet different from that cruel snarl. 

The teeth tighten and I can't breathe. "...Valdo. Can you hear me?"

I gasp as precious air enters my lungs, looking around wildly, my hair stuck to my forehead, just as my clothes stick to my body. The cold sweat feels like a bucket of well water has been poured over me. 

The room is different from the one before, but the beast won’t disappear. I can still feel the pressure on my chest...

_ "...werewolf is gone..." _

A violent shudder rattles me at the mention of that name.  _ Gone _ ... but is it ever...? 

"Nobody will hurt you. You're safe. " 

_ Oh, how wrong you are _ , I think,  _ I will most definitely get hurt... it's just a matter of time.  _

Slowly, my eyes adjust to the darkness, the full moon's light only breaching the room through the cracks at the edges of the curtains. Instantly, I become aware of the yellow eyes staring at me, glowing, watching their prey. The panic returns with full force and I draw away from the monster until my back hits the wall. 

A flashback of another time that has happened rains upon me. I was calmer back then, unknowing yet of what would await me. How naive I was to believe I'd experienced the worst this world had to offer back then at the age of fifteen. 

Although I never made that mistake again, life made sure I wouldn't forget. 

The voice is still talking, but I can’t make out the words. I can barely see, tears obscuring my vision. Then, the eyes move, and the silver moonlight catches white hair. 

It takes me a moment to realise what’s happening. This isn't a werewolf... this is a Witcher.  _ Geralt _ . He saved me before. 

I try to concentrate on that feeling, that safeness, watching him cautiously, with my legs pulled up to my chest and my sweat-soaked clothes dishevelled. I force myself to look at him,  _ really  _ look. His eyes aren’t as greenish as the ones that are usually haunting my dreams. They’re more... like warm amber or liquid gold, a warmth in them that would be misplaced on the nightmarish beast from my memories. Besides, his pupils are cat-like… and the ones from my dream most definitely weren't. The Witcher’s extraordinarily pale face doesn’t bear any anger either, like the monster surely would. 

Geralt  _ saved  _ me. He saved me and I'm thanking him by being troublesome and robbing him off sleep. 

He was so guarded before as if I was an animal to be wary of.

I’m unable to make myself look away, still not entirely trusting that it won’t turn into another nightmare, and I pull my arms closer around me, one of them around my knees, the other one bracing my left shoulder, almost in a mock embrace. Too late, I realize that my shirt slipped down my shoulder in my sleep, as my fingers find cold skin. I can almost feel Geralt’s eyes burning into every bit of exposed skin. I hastily pull at the chemise, drawing my shoulders all the way up and trying to withdraw into myself, grasping my legs even closer with both of my arms again. My heart beats too fast in my chest, loud enough that the Witcher can surely hear it. 

Quickly, I hide my face, afraid to look into those piercing eyes, hoping my hair will help to hide anything that should stay hidden, despite it being stuck together into an ugly mess. 

It’s too dark, and the Witcher is too far away to notice my scars…  _ right _ ?

Some of them are too fine to see even in daylight, especially from that far away. So he probably can’t have... but, why did he look at my shoulder?

Unfortunately, other scars are not as fine or unnoticable, on the contrary. Thick bite marks of various brutal bites litter my skin, a thicker cut stretches from the front of my shoulder down to my chest, and claw marks wander down my arm. I know them all too well.

Suddenly, my throat feels like it's been filled with a lump of wet clay, as the dread of the possibility that Geralt saw them and will most likely  _ ask  _ creeps under my skin.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Valdo’s scars jump up at me like a beast hiding in the shadows – no, a beast wouldn’t get the drop on me like that, more like a  _ ghost _ , unseen, unsmelled, unheard, unfelt. It takes me less than a second to recognise the lines for what they are – an all too familiar sight from my brothers to my teachers to myself – but far longer to process what I saw before the bard has tugged his shirt over them.

I hate it when people stare at my own scars – I hate it, and still, I can’t look away. Scars tell stories that words can’t. Some people are fascinated when they see them on my body, looking at them with curiosity, hoping for a great tale. For some, it shows how dangerous I am – no human could’ve received these wounds and lived. However, for me, scars mean that I was too slow, unprepared, too reckless... It's a sign of how I’m going to die one day, speaking of pain, more pain than most humans could bear. 

So I can’t tear away my gaze from the unmistakable lines on Valdo’s skin, even though they’re hidden under a shirt now. They’re etched into my brain forever. 

Why?

Because they are the scars of a  _ Witcher _ .

I’ve seen many wounds in my life. I know how sword scars look like, clean cuts from knives, round scarred tissue from arrows... but even faster than that, I recognise bite marks... so many of them littering my own body. Valdo’s scars are made by  _ monsters _ . The small patch of skin I saw was littered with different lines, bites, claw marks, incredibly faint cuts that speak of older injuries and a ropey, badly healed scar travelling down towards his chest and –

I suck in a deep breath. Scars mean pain. And Valdo’s scars speak of a lot of pain. Of brokenness. 

But then, Jaskier’s words filter into my mind, and I remember the scene so vividly as if I was still sitting in that hot tub, Jaskier washing the filth from my skin after a hunt. 

“I’ve written a song for you,” the bard announced out of the blue, tracing the cloth down my arms, and I shivered. “I’m still working on the melody...” He hesitated. “It’s... it’s not a song I will perform. It just... came to me.”

“Tell it to me,” I hummed, closing my eyes and enjoying the sensation of being cared for.

“What are scars,” Jaskier began and my eyes flew back open to stare at him, but his cornflower eyes were directed at the ugly bite mark on my shoulder, “but proof you’ve/ survived your wounds, / for wounds/ carry no scars,/ only blood.” 

His fingertips were as soft as petals, brushing over the welts and lines as if they were art adorning my body, and I held my breath. Something about his words touched me deep inside, so deep I feared that one movement might break the spell. 

“What are scars,” he continued, “but gold stars for/ lessons presented/ and conquered.”

The washcloth gently rubbed against my collarbone, and I swallowed, having never felt this vulnerable in all my life. I felt  _ seen _ .

“What are scars,” Jaskier whispered, his breath ghosting over the skin of my neck, and goosebumps erupted all over my body despite the hot water, “but evidence you’ve/ overcome life’s/ most difficult obstacles.” 

His words pierced me. I didn’t feel that way, couldn’t believe he saw my scars as anything other than flaws, but he continued, “What are scars, / but proof of/ your success, / leaving you/ not broken…” He hesitated, and when he continued, there was a note of steel in his voice, “… but wiser.”

Sometimes, I still couldn’t believe these words, however often Jaskier told them to me.

Suddenly, Valdo makes a low sound at the back of his throat, and my attention snaps back to him. His breathing has turned ragged, too fast, as if his lungs are unable to hold in any air. The acid of his panic bites into my nose, and I almost move to touch him, calm him, but I stamp down on my instincts and try to use my voice instead.

“Valdo... Valdo, it’s fine. You’re fine...” I say, using the words Eskel repeated whenever I dreamt of the Trials as a young Witcher. Now’s not the time to wonder about the scars – even though I do – first, I have to make sure the bard is calm and safe. 

His nightmare suddenly makes an awful lot of sense... 

How could he have got these terrible scars?

  
“You’re fine,” I repeat, forbidding myself to follow down that line of thought.  _ Prioritise, Geralt. _ “You’re safe. You’re fine. You’re with me, and nothing can hurt you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> The poem Geralt remembers is Scars by Kristi Kaye - Hello Poetry. My absolute favourite poem about Scars. Do you have a poem you like about that topic? I'd be interested in reading it.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Have a good weekend everybody <3


	23. A Black Smudge

**Valdo**

I feel lightheaded and try my best to calm down. As tempting as passing out might be, the mere idea makes my skin crawl after what happened. I didn't have a nightmare of that magnitude for many years. 

I’m losing myself to the dark part of my brain again, so I try to listen, not brave enough to look up still.

It’s weird how the sound is moving in and out of tune. Geralt says something and it takes everything I have to focus enough to understand the words, part of me expecting to not want to hear what he’s saying, fearing his judgment, the contempt, or straight out hate even... 

"You're fine. You're safe." He repeats over and over so softly it’s hard to imagine the stoic warrior can muster it. Yet… here we are.

Unless I did finally lose my mind. 

His mantra reminds me of my own, from back then.  _ I'll be fine. _

"... You're fine..."

I try to breathe to the rhythm of his reassurances to get a hold of myself. I've gotten rusty, not having to use that skill in a while, not ever expecting to have to use it again. Good time to practise considering what I have yet to do in the near future...

But with the overwhelming emotions starting to die down, my mind begins to chime in,  _ I don't deserve his help, don't deserve his pity. _

I was, after all, no random victim. In fact… I wasn't a victim at all. If anything I was my own abuser and the sole cause of my own sorrows. 

I have to stop wasting his energy and time since there’s nothing I can give him in return. Although he insisted that he didn't want anything, I know that isn't how the world works. How people work. Soon enough, he'll realise the imbalance of how much I take without giving anything back, and, unless he’s one of  _ those  _ people, he won’t want my body - the only thing I have to give. 

I take a deeper, almost frantic breath and bite my lip harshly, trying to brace myself to do  _ something _ . Finally, I raise my head again, making sure my clothes stay in the right places and avoiding his gaze. I try wiping away the remaining tears, but it seems futile as there are new ones replacing them.

A stripe of moonlight reveals a black smudge on my palm. The eyeliner. I must look awful, after the days of travel and now…  _ this _ . It almost makes me hide my face again, but instead, I let the calm detached mindset that allowed me to survive the things done to me flow through my body. 

I raise my head a little higher, yet I still can’t meet his eyes. My arms automatically find their way back around my body in that pathetic pseudo-hug. This isn't about me, though. I don’t want to spread my misery, and yet here I am, doing exactly that to a complete stranger. 

I only realise he stopped talking when I speak up myself. "I'm sorry... I'm s-so sorry..."

Despite my best effort, my voice sounds timid from the emotional exhaustion and rough from the crying. I wonder if he even heard me.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

After a while, my reassurances seem to take effect. The bard’s breathing slows marginally.

In.

Out.

In. 

Out.

It seems to take forever for him to finally lift his gaze inch by inch, his breathing still a little too fast, but no longer on the verge of passing out from panic. I keep talking, hoping my voice will calm him a little further, my gaze very firmly on his face. I do not allow myself to trace down his body, to check his skin around his sleeves or his neck for more scars. 

There are dark smudges around his eyes, his tears washing away the coal of his eyeliner, and he looks ruined, utterly ruined. Like this nightmare destroyed the brittle facade he’d build up since meeting me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody this vulnerable. It wakes something in me, something  _ protective _ , and I long to stand up and throw my arms around him, to hold him and make him feel safe – just like I do with Jaskier sometimes – but I know that this would have the exact opposite effect.

I’m a  _ predator _ . I prey on monsters, fair enough, but a predator nonetheless. And if his scars speak the truth, then he knows about predators, too. I’m really not the right person to be here right now – and for a moment, I contemplate waking Jaskier because... at least, he’s human. But given their interactions last evening, it’s maybe not the best idea.

Then, his voice pierces the sudden silence, the void the absence of my reassurances has created. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs lowly, barely above a whisper. “I'm s-so sorry...”

His fingers dig into his shoulder and shin, as if trying to keep himself from falling apart, and the seaweed misery of his smell takes my breath away from a moment. I hate that my nose is able to detect the many layers, the faint acid of panic still present, the salt of tears, the gut-punching sulphuric smell of guilt, all interwoven with pain and misery and some little traces that form Valdo’s own smell, pine maybe, or cedar wood, spicy and fresh.

Well done, Geralt. You managed to pull him back from a panic attack right into making him feel like a horrible human being for having one. Or maybe he’s apologising for the nightmare, I’m not sure.

“It’s alright,” I reply a little helplessly because, fuck if I knew what to do. 

For a bitter moment, I wish Vesemir was here. He handled so many traumatised boys in his life, kids abused by their parents, young Witchers unable to leave the Trials behind, seasoned Witchers that have seen unimaginable horrors... But I’m not him, and _ I don’t know what to do. _

Talking always seems to help, but words are not my language. I can’t offer personal information easily, and not only because I don’t exactly trust Nachtschatten – I mean, he could be anybody, a spy, an assassin, a fea creature – but also because my heart is a secret garden with very high walls. My whole self is hidden away in that garden, and offering information up about myself feels like letting people glimpse behind the fortress walls into my very soul – and I’m pretty sure they won’t like what they’ll find.

Jaskier has conquered a part of that garden. Yennefer, too. They walked through the walls, as if they’d not been there, as easily as breathing. Nachtschatten, though...

“I’m sorry,” the bard repeats, my words not even registering with him, and I sigh quietly, hating myself for the inability to deal with humans, with emotions...

“Do you want some water?” I offer finally, holding the waterskin out to him, because that I can do. This way, I can help, can show that he’s safe, that he doesn’t have to fear me. Nachtschatten must be thirsty from the crying and the fear, and judging by the amount of bread that is still left on the plate from last night, hungry too. He barely ate anything. 

His eyes, red from crying, fixed on the waterskin, never venturing further than that, and I try to ignore that he’s too scared to even look at me. It’s the nightmare, I tell myself.

“Please, drink,” I add when the bard makes no move to take it, only staring at it as if it could jump up and bite him at any moment. But I can see that he’s thirsty in the way he licks his lips and his body moves instinctively towards the water before he holds himself back.

I don’t understand why he’s denying himself... or maybe I do. At the beginning, whenever Jaskier paid for our room and meals because I was scammed on a contract, I could barely bring myself to touch the food, guilt like stones in my stomach. I still don’t entirely believe I deserve the care Jaskier bestows on me...

And the guilt I detect in Valdo’s smell tells a similar story. 

But he’s human! There’s no need to be wary of gifts. I’m sure nobody ever tried to poison his stew, or pissed in his ale... humans form these easy social connections where they extend random kindness towards each other for no reason at all. The random kindness seldom extends to Witchers, though, so I learned to be wary of things freely offered. There’s usually a catch. 

And that’s what Nachtschatten must think of me. Witchers aren’t known for being kind. 

The thought tastes bitter on my tongue.

I don’t know what he expects me to do or to demand, or what he thinks is in that waterskin, but something about his wariness of me makes me sick to the stomach. Right. Not only a predator but also a monster. How could I forget?

And a person as scarred by monsters as him is right in distrusting me.

“It’s only water,” I say quietly, putting the waterskin down on his bed, so he can easily reach it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess:  
> Thank you for all your nice comments and kudos. They give us life in this stressful time <3


	24. The Inevitable Downfall

**Valdo**

It's so hard to concentrate on Geralt’s words, but his voice is nice. Soothing in a way the stones and gravel at a river's ground are, when you’re drowning and floating without anything to hold on to, giving you something real into that intangible space, something that can help boost yourself upwards in hopes to get a gasp of air. 

Before the inevitable downfall again. 

The mention of water grasps my attention. The dryness in my throat feels almost like a fire burning with inextinguishable thirst. When did I drink last anyway? … sometime yesterday, I'm sure. And food... I might have forgotten to eat altogether...

My hand automatically reaches out for the offered water skin. 

_ Tsk tsk taking more and more... only because he showed you a little kindness, you're getting all greedy, aren't you? _

I stop at the unexpected hostile inner voice. A part of me knows this isn't true, the other, currently especially vulnerable one, however, is way too eager to believe it. 

My hand stops in mid air at the inner battle of mine, and when I manage to finally win, the Witcher puts the waterskin on the bed close to me and retreats to that kneeling position at the end of the bed.

He’s very closed off and hard to read, compared to other people, but something about his demeanor makes me feel even more guilty. I must have hurt him again... since pain seems to be my domain anyway. 

Or maybe it’s that kneeling position? I am the one on the floor usually, and rarely for any good reason. 

I grab the water and drink some, suppressing the compulsive need to drown the burning thirst with it, and possibly choking. I take a few careful gulps.

Taking a few more moments to breathe, I sip a little more of the water. 

I owe him... something.

It takes everything to look up, the eyes still carefully gazing at me, just at my face this time. Like two burning suns, too blinding to look at, but I have to. 

"It's nothing personal...I promise." I whisper, with my voice sounding even lower than normal after all the crying.

He just looks at me and I’m not familiar enough with him to be sure if he believes me or not. 

I sip more water, yet it doesn’t quench the incredible urge to explain myself. Geralt's silence feels like judgment. 

I bite my lower lip, looking down at the messy bed sheets.

When I look up again, I try to fight against the daze of my brain to find the right words. 

"I...I know what people think of Witchers, what they talk about your... kind? Ehmm ...People?" Oh no... are they a  _ race _ ? Like elves and dwarfs? They aren't human. But they used to be once... just like some of the dryads... I surely offended him. I glance down briefly, flustered and feeling the heat of embarrassment on my cheeks,which are still wet from the tears. 

"What I mean to say. I'm not thinking badly of you. And not because you..." My voice grows somewhat softer, "...saved me. People are just... stupid sometimes." 

I halt for a moment, trying to get back to what I was actually trying to say. 

"I'm not afraid of you... specifically." One of my hands wanders to grip my hair, tugging at the strands nervously.

"I just... I can't... it's not you, it's me. " I end lamely, looking up again helplessly hoping he understands. Hoping it makes him feel better. 

I have an urge to sing to calm myself despite being drained. It was the only thing I had. My voice was my only comfort after long nights of... nightmares, for the longest time. And with Geralt being all silent again, the world is pressing down on me.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

I blink at the bard. His words make absolutely no sense... but they do calm the voice in me that screams mo _ nster, monster, monster  _ every time I inhale. 

“Hm,” I offer after a moment, then nod at the food. “There’s some bread left.”

Valdo’s gaze jumps to the whole-wheat rolls, a weird expression on his face. But, finally,  _ finally _ , his fingers inch over the blanket towards the food, and I almost sigh in relief when he takes a piece of bread. It gives me a moment to reflect on his words.

So, if he’s not afraid of  _ me  _ – what is he afraid of, then? 

Sure, the nightmare seemed terrible, and the events today were certainly traumatising, but I have the feeling that the answer once again lies in his scars. But I won’t ask, won’t push. It’s none of my business.

The low crunching of chewed bread fills the room, and I relax a little, tension seeping from my shoulders. Suddenly, I become aware of something else.

Jaskier’s heartbeat changed.

Only slightly. But it’s faster than it used to be, his breathing a little uneven, too low to be real. He must’ve been awake for at least a minute, keeping his breathing down to listen in on our conversation. I almost applaud his ability to keep still and silent – normally, he’s unable to complete even this simple task. 

He could have stayed silent out of respect, to not disturb the fragile peace in the room, but something tells me, it’s because of curiosity. But curiosity killed the cat.

The corners of my mouth twitch as I lie out my trap. “Has Jaskier’s taste in clothes always been this abysmal?” I ask innocently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: MAGICAL MIDINVAERNE TO YOU ALL!!! *lets bard-shaped confetti rain and throws ginger-bread-witchers at everyone* :D
> 
> We´re getting there with Valdo... for now XD And Geralt tryin´to start some drama huh? 
> 
> On another note I might try and write a little bit of Jaskier´s and Valdo´s past (BABY-BARDS!!!! AAAAHHH!!!!) kinda from when they met and how everything went to shit in their relationship! Can´t tell you when cause I am terrible at writing quickly when I write alone but the few pages that I have are so adorable that it hurts to think I gotta make them hate each other! X0 
> 
> Love you all, hope you are safe, healthy and happy and if not I hope you very soon will be! X3


	25. Immensely Foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: HA! IT´S CHRISTMAS TIME FOR ME!!!!! SO YOU GET ANOTHER CHAPTER TODAY NO MATTER IF OR WHAT YOU CELEBRATE ´CAUSE YOU ARE A TREASURE TO THE WORLD!!!! BOO:YAAH!!!! :D   
> So we are at chapter 25 and yet not even a night passed yet! What a break-neck pace XD lol Hope you are doing good and enjoying our dramatic angsty boys ! X3 *leaves a plate with lute-shaped and wolfs-head-shaped cookies out for grabs*

**Valdo**

I munch on that bread roll Geralt offered me, concentrating on just breathing. Avoiding any thoughts that might linger on anything negative for too long. 

I'm still exhausted, in some ways more so than before that poor attempt at sleeping. Sleeping however wasn't an option anymore. I cannot risk another nightmare. 

An unexpected question from Geralt draws my attention. I spaced out somewhat, almost forgetting I wasn't alone. The Witcher was still at the end of the bed, still in that kneeling position, but he looked less tense now. 

The question was surprising in itself. Geralt didn't strike me as the gossiping type. 

"Hmmm..." My gaze trailed towards my old enemy sleeping on a chair, with his face and torso planted on the table, but I was too washed out of feelings to.. feel strongly about anything... not even about him. 

"He always liked flashy colours I suppose..." I say eventually, sleeping Jaskier reminded me of that boy I met so long ago. That boy that I started a feud with, not knowing how much it would escalate. How much the mere existence of this man still influenced my life. 

I sighed, a little bit resigned. I couldn't muster up any venom. It all seemed so meaningless. Even if Julian wouldn't exist, being a bard wouldn't have provided me with enough money. So I'd have to do what I was about to do anyway.

I grew up enough to know that now, but it was comforting in a way to just get angry at someone who wasn't me. Someone who I felt more equal to, in some regards at least. I was indulging that immaturity for purely selfish reasons, but it wasn't hurting anyone anymore. Julian and I haven't crossed paths in years, and I reserved my worst rants either for those rarely written journal entries of mine, or for the ears of my family members.

I snapped back to the present, and noticed Geralt watching me again. Was it intrigue painting his face? Did he want me to talk badly about his friend...? I did so before yes, and I would most likely do that again, but... not like this. Not when I felt so low... no, bringing others down now would only bring me down even further too.

I could return to that heated rivalry and dislike next time. 

"He was always loud and... talkative, so the clothes are fitting..." My voice was having a hard time carrying the words, still not hydrated enough and my body generally overstrained. But my lips almost curved up at the memory of that lanky boy, that so elegantly yet casually sauntered over to me, on my first day at the University. Both of us not knowing yet how difficult we'd make each other's life. 

He was overconfident and absolutely charming, but also friendly and kind. I was fourteen and very impressed and slightly intimidated by the two years older boy. 

I leaned my head on my knees to get my tense body some rest.

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

What a pity. My dream dissolved as the flowers in the Countessʼ room started to whisper a question about my accouterment. Nonsense. I had no clothes on.

Those gillyflowers had such a low voice, completely unbefitting them. 

The neck ache is horrible. I donʼt even try to look up. I can hear the rustling of bed sheets. Did my lady tell me to sleep on the floor again? No. Thereʼs no lady. Still, the flowers are whispering. Unless... they arenʼt flowers.

_ Dear gillyflower, I know your voice too well. _ My consciousness comes back slowly. So the gillygeralt just asked... asked Valdo? About my clothing. In the middle of the night. What did I miss?

I focus on breathing. If Iʼll breathe with a proper pace Iʼll make my sleeping credible and Iʼll hear the answer. Itʼs not like I care about the answer. I do not. ʼTis pure curiosity. I am not going to despair or be overdramatic about it. Unless this bastard says something particularly vile... 

"He always liked flashy colours, I suppose..."

That is... surprisingly neutral. I bet he’s internally laughing at me. He’s just too afraid of Geralt to slander me openly in front of him.

Thereʼs a moment of silence. 

… and then that characteristic sigh… 

The sound of science-lectures and failed chords. It reminds me of that boy I met so long ago. Back then, I was sure Iʼd rather sell my lute than let something between us break.

Priorities change.

"He was always loud and... talkative, so the clothes are fitting..."

Silence. I know that Geralt will answer in a moment with his tactical "hmm," so I decide to preempt him. I have the absolute right to interrupt as they are shamelessly gossiping about me. 

...so I stretch and use my right immediately.

“Oh, Valdo, Valdo...” I tut with my eyes still closed. “Didnʼt you forget to mention a few curses and libels?” I say as I turn my head towards them. “So nice of you, you bast-”

Geralt gives me an icy look. In the dusk I can see Valdo instantly straightens his legs.

The way he looks makes me feel uncomfortable, confused and...something else. What is that, heart? Pity? Why have you let it in? No pity for pitiless creatures. Donʼt let yourself forget who he was, who he became and what he did, what he said, Jaskier. Heʼs not that boy you met a long time ago anymore. 

People change. 

Even though his eyes are filled with the same fear they were before each exam. Is his smile also the same? I realized there was no opportunity to check it. And there probably won't be. Not a loss.

"I... I'm going to the innkeeper," I say, getting up. "May he lend a bit of tincture to my sore neck. Apparently, we will both pay for my generosity and for lending the bed to our dear unexpected guest. The innkeeper wonʼt be very happy I wake him up at this hour, I’m sure..." 

I know Geralt is rolling his eyes at the moment. 

"Well, maybe he will forgive me when I explain the whole thing to him. However, if youʼll find me with a cut throat, know that I feel immensely foolish due to the fact I died sacrificing myself for such a trivial cause," I said, before I closed the door.

Geralt already knows that I wonʼt be back before the sunrise.


	26. Pain That Screams So Loudly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo Geralt might or might not make some observations about the sorry sight of Valdo´s body.... just so you are warned X0 
> 
> We´ll get a little more forwards in time....eventually so far we`re having fun being all snails XD

**Valdo**

I tense upon hearing Julian's voice. I don't have the strength to play that game right now, nor do I want him to see me like this...

I straighten up a little, and pull my legs away from my body, letting my arms fall down beside me, frantically hoping my shirt will stay in place. 

I did this to myself, all the while back.

I hear him say he wants to go to the innkeeper... it's what...?

I look towards the window. The night starts to fade out slowly, the full moon not as jarring against the sky anymore. Still... way too early to wake someone up. 

What a dork...

But I'm glad for that, as it seems that he will be leaving the room shortly.

I just have to make sure to disappear before he comes back.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

For a long moment, I just stare at the door that closed after my friend. I’m pretty sure that he’s not going to the innkeeper. However, I do understand the need for some personal space. I didn’t have enough of that since I’ve started travelling with Jaskier.

Still, it breaks something in my heart that the bard felt he needed to flee from this... from me. I don’t understand why he’s so set on seeing Valdo in a certain way, completely missing what’s right in front of his eyes. This person is nothing like Jaskier described him. I don’t see any evil in him, and I’m good at seeing the monster in humans.

With a sigh, I look away from the door, which I know won’t open. Jaskier is long gone. The purple-grey glow of dusk illuminates the gaunt figure sitting ramrod straight on the bed, which is plenty of light for my superior eyes. I didn’t intend to ogle him, but since I’ve seen the scars, my brain categorises the information my eyes deliver differently. I’d noticed before that Nachtschatten was a little on the slim side, but now, the bony wrists and the sharp cheekbones paint a picture of hunger and starvation. He kicked free of the blanket, and, suddenly, the marks on his ankles jump up at me – how could I have been this blind?

I’ve seen his shin before, but I didn’t pay attention. 

There are scars there, too. And sadly experience supplies me with enough material to place them as stemming from heavy iron shackles, worn either for a long time or again and again, never allowing the small wounds to heal completely, until they scar.

My eyes wander to the soles of his feet... and there are even more marks there. Some possibly left behind by burns, as if someone had forced him to literally walk over hot coals, others by knives or very sharp stones.

Like the ground to a falling man, it comes rushing up and hits me all at once – the thinness of his body, the scars, the fear, the nightmare; one implication leads to another and shatters me.

Valdo has been tortured.

My mind enters hunting-mode, piecing so many things together so fast that I almost can’t consciously follow. Some of the scars I’ve spotted were older, decades old, some newer; his too thin body and palpable fear could attest to a recent experience... which leads me to another conclusion I hadn’t wanted to make.

Valdo is in danger.

“Fuck,” I curse out loud, rage entering my veins like liquid fire. Rage at whoever did this to him. Rage born out of helplessness – because, what the fuck am I supposed to do now? I have not the faintest clue how to deal with all this. I can’t just ignore his pain when it screams so loudly it almost deafens me. However, I also can’t fix this –

Because there’s nothing to fix. Nachtschatten doesn’t trust me, and he doesn’t trust Jaskier. And even if he was in danger – what was I supposed to do about that? Protect him from what?

I rub a hand over my face, desperately trying to focus, but the lack of sleep and the familiar rage won’t let me. So it takes me a moment to notice that Valdo has leapt from the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Yess yesss our Buttercup disappeared again *shugs* He´ll be back, causing... drama? Maybe... XD haha Valdo has to hurry not to come across him again though, but there will be some difficulties I fear and Geralt well he worries... as he always does, also those enigmatic bard ffs! :D 
> 
> Oh? "THERE IS ANOTHER CHAPTER THIRD DAY IN A ROW?!" I hear you ask ^3^ Yes, yes ´cause I love you ! X3 also prolly the last one this year too ! X0 (in time for the new day beginning for our boys... soo maybe we`ll move a week forwards in the story in the coming year XD.... oh man I hope it won´t be THAT bad ) 
> 
> I wish you a good start into the new year! My it have plenty of love and happiness for you in store, but don't forget...it is what you make of it! 
> 
> *leaves out some bard-flavoured chmapagne for ya and some Witcher bombs...for fishing purposes only* ;p
> 
> See you on the other side! :D


	27. Ghoul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO GHOUL´S WERE HURT IN THE MAKING OF THIS CHAPTER! X0

**Valdo**

Jaskier left the room and with the Witcher looking at the door... almost longingly, gave me a moment to collect myself and gather the strength to go on. 

I used to do that all the time in the past, just need to get used to it again.

Geralt looks back at me now I realize, his eyes clouded a little. 

"Fuck" He utters out of nowhere, making me jump slightly, more in reflex than out of genuine fear. Yet it still makes me uncomfortable. His face seems older for a moment, as if he gathered some painful wisdom that he needed to come to terms with. 

Well, better leave him to it then. I doubted me of all the people out there could help him. Additionally I think that the wedge I was creating between him and Pankratz just in this short amount of time, was wearying him down. 

I swung my legs onto the floor, my boots were not there. Right! They probably stayed by the chair where Geralt tended to my wound. 

A pang of guilt went through my mind at the thought of all the kindness he has given me, a stranger, despite the only thing I brought into his life being trouble and discomfort. 

I get up, making a little detour around the Witcher still on the ground, his look following me a little questioningly, as if he wondered what the hell I was up to. 

His eyes narrowed a little when he saw me putting on my boots. Before he could ask I said.

"Time for me to leave. As much as I don't care for his discomfort..." I indicate with the motion of my head towards the door that I mean Pankratz. "... I'd hate to impose my presence upon you any longer. " My voice still sounds rough, but I'm determined not to dwell on the reason, imbuing it with something resembling life.

I stand up going over to the basin with water. I look around, but there is only one rag by it. 

_ Well, this shirt was ruined anyway. _

With a heavy sigh I dampen the edge of my left sleeve with water and go over to the window, using it as a makeshift mirror to get rid of the excess eyeliner on my cheeks. Making myself a tad more presentable before I go. 

"You are not-" Geralt starts with his gravelly voice, but I interrupt him, starting to get a little bit angry. I don't deserve this kindness. Whatever he assumes about me is wrong, he shouldn't waste the... goodness on me. 

"He has good reasons to dislike me you know." I say, rubbing a little at a particularly persistent smudge of makeup. Then I add a little quieter. 

"We both have at this point, but there is no reason to make others suffer through it."

I straighten up my clothes and look at the hazy image of my reflection. 

My eyes look huge on my thinned face and whilst I was always rather petite for a man, this was... unsettling. I looked like some ghoul.

A miracle that the Witcher didn't kill me on sight. 

The dark shadows under my eyes not distinguishable from the coal-colored remains of my eyeliner. 

My curls now matted and gross through sweat and dirt. Now reaching my chest rather than my shoulders under the weight of the wetness and grime, that also straightened them up some, giving me an even gaunter look. 

I grimace at myself, and turn around almost bumping into Geralt, who was just hovering there. 

Unsure if it's cute or creepy I refuse to linger on this either. I give him a half smile and walk around him to get my things. 

With my bag and lute hung around my shoulders I turn towards the Witcher. My face softens a little. 

"I cannot thank you enough for all that you had done for me and apologise that there wasn't anything I could give you in return..." ...but trouble I think, resist saying the last part out loud however.

With a nod I turn to leave. 

"Wait..." I hear that sandy gravel speak up. I turn my head back to look at him questioningly.

*

*

*   
*

**Geralt**

My thoughts are racing. Nachtschatten is staring expectantly at me, his bags packed, only a few steps from the door. The sulphuric smell of guilt hangs in the air, urging me on to stop him. Everything in me screams that if I let him go, I might just as well hand-deliver him to the monsters that hurt him, whether they are human or creature.

I can’t let that happen.

“There is something you can do for me,” I rasp, hoping he won’t hear the desperation in my voice, while my mind is trying to come up with a good reason – something, anything - that makes him stay a little longer.

Valdo’s heartbeat jumps, and only the faintest tremor in his hands betrays the anxiety I can smell on him.

“You... um...” I hunch my shoulders a little, trying to appear less threatening. “You don’t have to, of course...”

I know it’s selfish of me to ask anything of him in return for saving him. I don’t require payment for kindness. Suddenly, my mouth is completely dry, and the words won’t come out, even though I had even conjured the perfect excuse for him to stay that wasn’t an excuse really. It would be really helpful to me if he could take Roach to the smithy; one of her front horseshoes is a little loose and needed fixing, and villagers react much nicer to a human asking than a Witcher.

Of course, I could still send Jaskier when he cooled down, but I was hoping he’d accompany me to the alderman to negotiate the coin. But, of course, I could always do that afterwards. It just meant we might need to stay another night here because smithies were often suddenly very busy when I showed up or demanded an amount of coin that bankrupted me.

“It was silly,” I wave my words away, cursing myself internally.

Way to make him trust you, Geralt. Demand stuff of him, use him. Great. Simply fucking great. You’re a Witcher, godsdamnit, not a five-year-old, I berate myself. You can fight your battles alone. You don’t need anyone.

Still, it just feels so awfully wrong to let him go like that. This feeling of wrongness lies heavily in the pit of my stomach, settling under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch. I just can’t shake the image of him tormented by his nightmare, utterly ruined by whatever demons he fights.

And I know that letting him leave now would haunt me for the rest of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Time to let go ... OR IS IT?! *dramatic drums*
> 
> On another note, I did write the prequel for this, on how Jaskier and Valdo met I am now just waiting on Blue Furious to make Jaskier´s view on that day and then we´ll post it. I can only say it´s... sickeningly sweet and I cannot wait to show you :D (like literally Blue Furious and I screamed and squealed about this so fuckin´much ahhhh!!!!)
> 
> Love you all ! Hope you started the year well! X3 *leaves out some leftover christmass sweets if you fancy*


	28. Little Touches

**Valdo**

I am surprised when Geralt says I could do something for him. Normally it'd make me suspicious of the intentions behind it, but the Witcher's hesitance - something nonexistent in people with malicious intent - makes me feel warm in a way, makes me want to help him even more. If I can do what he requests that is. 

It seems difficult for him to form the words needed, and my heart aches. Despite me wanting to leave, I make a few steps closer towards him once more. 

The light of the slowly rising sun illuminates those warm amber eyes, that for some reason cannot meet mine. 

I hesitate for a moment for both our sakes, but decide to be bold for better or worse. I very delicately lay a hand on his shoulder. 

It is so odd... strangers are never this... vulnerable, or soft or kind ... not with me anyway. For a moment I feel some kind of spiritual kinship with this man who is the polar opposite of who I am. 

He looks up at me upon feeling my touch. Doesn't seem too alarmed, just surprised, which I am grateful for. 

"What can I help you with?" I ask with as soft a voice as I can muster after that turbulent night.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

Suddenly, I find myself unable to meet Valdo’s kind eyes, the touch he offers, like a gift, sends goose bumps down my arm. I know how much it costs him to touch me like that. 

Nobody touches me ever. Well, except my brothers, but they are Witchers, too. 

And Jaskier.

It’s the little touches that make my day... the casual brush of his knuckles against my hand, a pat on the shoulder, his leg pressed up against mine under the table – only a moment and his touch is gone, but his warmth lingers. Jaskier touches me so casually, as if he’s never even aware of how dangerous I am, how mutated and scarred and monstrous.

But Valdo knows, and he touches me anyway. It’s utterly confusing.

“Roach,” I ground out, more a threat than a name, and Nachtschatten frowns, his hand dropping from my shoulder. “I need to take Roach to the smithy,” I explain then. “And most people don’t react too friendly to... people like me, so I thought... well...”

“You want me to tend to your horse?” Valdo asks, his voice a little higher with an emotion I can’t name.

“I told you – you don’t have to,” I hastily backtrack. “You surely want to be on your –” I shut my mouth with a click. I was babbling, fucking babbling, like Jaskier. Ugh.

Abruptly, I turn around and start packing the bedrolls together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Ah... a scrap of softness... X3 I really need more of those moments, also between Geralt and Jaskier *stares at co-writers pointedly*


	29. Kind, Warm Eyes

**Valdo**

Him speaking up has me confused at first, and even more confused when he continues.

I can't help myself and a small giggle escapes me.

"I really want to help you, I do... but you have seen me with a horse... therefore you must realize that I do not have any idea how to tend to a one..." 

My short-lived mirth dies upon the words he said echoing in my head. I know how people think of Witchers and I am thankful to not have contributed to that, for seeing this Monster Hunter, that was supposedly barely any different from a beast, I wouldn't have forgiven myself. 

I know what monsters look like, and they don't ever have such kind, warm eyes. 

He stiffens a little, hearing my words, as if realising I was probably the worst person to do this.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

“That’s fine,” I say, packing the last of our belongings into the saddlebag. “You just need to lead her to the smithy and ask him to shoe her right front leg. Then you haggle a little for a price. The maximum I can give is 20 Orens.” Quickly, I stand up. “Wait, I’ll give you the money now, and you just return it if you don’t need it all.”

I get out my coin pouch and extract twenty Orens from it. “Here.”

Valdo takes the coin hesitantly. “O-okay. I’ll try.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank you,” I say because I might be a Witcher, but I wasn’t raised in a barn. Quickly, I glance around the room, take the remaining bread from the plate and stuff it into my bag, check the room again, but it looks like everything’s packed. “Come,” I say, grab all our bags and Jaskier’s lute and walk through the door that Valdo holds open for me.

“Two breakfasts and two ales,” I say to the barkeep once we reach the tavern. Jaskier is nowhere in sight, but the dirty mug on the counter tells me he has already eaten and is probably sulking somewhere outside.

The man nods, his eyes wandering from me to Valdo. I ignore him and look for a good spot to eat. 

“So...” Nachtschatten begins, fiddling with the lute strap. “I’ll just... where’s the smithy?”

I frown at him. We passed it last evening. But maybe he’d been too exhausted to notice. Sometimes I forget that not everybody is trained to be always aware of their surroundings. “To the right until you reach the fountain, then it’s the small stone house directly opposite. You’ll smell and hear it before you see it.”

“Ah,” Valdo says, still looking a little uncomfortable.

“Your breakfasts, misters,” the barkeep says, placing two plates of eggs, bread and left-over meat from yesterday on the counter.

“Thanks,” I nod, grabbing my plate and ale and walking over to the dark corner I usually prefer in these establishments.

After a moment, I notice that Valdo is still standing rooted to the spot, staring at the food. “For me?” he asks then, looking around wildly, as if he expects another person to come up and claim the food.

“Hm,” I agree, biting into my bread. 

Very slowly, the bard reaches out to take the mug of ale and the plate and walks over to me. “You know I don’t have the coin to...”

I frown at him. “You’re hungry and I have the coin,” I reply simply, taking a hearty bite of meat. I’m hungry, too. Potions always need a lot of energy to finally neutralise, and even though the hunt wasn’t especially taxing, it still required focus and strength.

I focus completely on my food, giving Nachtschatten time to process. Finally, he sits down and takes a sip from his ale, which I book under progress. From the corners of my eyes, I can see how he eyes the food, then my plate, then his own food again.

“You can have my portion,” he offers finally after I wolfed down half of my food.

“No,” I say, stabbing the egg with my fork. “It’s yours. Eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Heyo folks! :D Hope you´re doing well. Right now there is a lot in our lives so writing our RP goes slow (don´t worry we have more than enough buffer, until we run out of chapters to post X0) But when our lives get to some emblance of... well the opposite of complete and utter chaos I might want to post 2 chapters a week if my co-authors agree. X3 
> 
> Also ... I HAVE WRITTEN THAT PREQUEL OF JASKIER AND VALDO MEETING!!!! AAAHH!!! It´s TOO SWEET TO HANDLE!!!! (It´s called "The Last Dance" if you are interested)! It´s so sweet that my last RP entry was extra angsty XD (I know no shame ^3^V ) BUT I will have you know, that the princess and blue furious both rose to my demand for cutness... IT WAS MAGNIFICENT AND I CANNOT WAIT FOR YOU TO READ IT!!! (even though I destroyed everything with sadness afterwards XD lol well...what can you do *shrugs*)
> 
> ALSO! Should you read "The Last Dance" I´d highly apreciate some comments (as well as here really X3), even if it´s just a squeal at the softness I might have created! I really want people to read it in the hopes they´öö be grinning as stupodly as I when I´ve written it XD lol ... okay okay... Imma stop rambling now ^3^
> 
> Love ya! X3 *throws a bunch of baby!bards/flower!boys fluff at ya*


	30. Ten To Ninety

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter involves massive eating issuses. If that triggers you, please skip at least Valdo´s part. Geralt just mentions Valdo and food in the first passage. 
> 
> Please take care of yourself! *all the hugs*

**Valdo**

I listen to Geralt explain to me what to do and where to go, feeling out of my depth, but it's nothing compared to the feeling of my mind blanking out when he presses a hand full of coins into my hand.

The trust he has in me is overwhelming. I don't feel deserving of it in any way.

"O-okay. I'll try." I stammer out. I have no choice. 

His sigh of relief and the raspy "Thank you" make up my mind. I have to do it. It doesn't sound very difficult. It'll be fine. 

I nod to myself slightly in encouragement.

Downstairs, however, the white-hair doesn't go out to the stables, but to the barkeep and orders two breakfasts. Before I can process what is happening, I ask him about the smithy.

His explanation furthers my feeling of ineptitude, I should have seen it, when we passed it earlier...

When the food Geralt ordered arrives, and takes only one portion with him... My mind tries to catch up. 

"For me?" I ask, like the idiot I am. I take it and follow him, trying to explain that I cannot afford this and get interrupted by more kindness, wrapped in that harsh voice, for my efforts. 

I don't feel that hungry, I just had that bread roll. It seems too rude to downright refuse however. 

_ This is why you don't deserve kindness. You can't even appreciate it once someone takes pity and gives you some.  _

I gingerly take a sip of the ale, proud of myself for not grimacing. It was always a little bit too bitter for my taste...

"You can have my portion." I offer eagerly after seeing him dig into his food with vigour, hoping to have found a way out of this. 

"No. It's yours. Eat." His tone bares no refusal, the last word ringing in my ears, echoing different voices. Ones from the past.

With my left hand, I take the fork into my hand, squeezing it a little too tightly.

I start feeling slightly nauseous, looking down at what for sure is a lovely-tasting meal, but I can only feel dread.

I see my left hand moving, the fork gathering the food up. 

I have to. He won't take a no. Not to mention how ungrateful it would be.

It's almost an out of body experience, I see myself eat the food, as if floating from above. There is only me and the dreaded plate that doesn't seem to get emptier.

I feel my jaw move slowly chewing each bite. 

I feel sick. 

Bad memories trying to flood my mind. I cannot let him know, though, he already probably thinks I'm pathetic... He wouldn't understand. And... I don't want to hurt his feelings. Again.

It takes all my control not to vomit then and there, and when I'm finally finished with the food I am genuinely surprised that the sun is still so high up. 

The next thing I realize is the Witcher watching me with an unreadable expression.

I want to say something, suggest moving on so I can go to the smithy with... Roach, but I don't trust myself with opening my mouth right now.

*

*   
*   
*

**Geralt**

Valdo looks a little nauseous after he stuffs the last of the bread into his mouth, washing it down with ale. That was not what I had intended – to make him sick. Maybe it had been too much food after very little for a long while. You had to be careful with that, after starvation especially. Many soldiers died after surviving a battle, just because they stuffed themselves full on feasts after weeks of barely any sustenance.

Jaskier still isn’t back. A slither of worry creeps into my gut, but I ignore it. The bard can take care of himself.

Well, most of the time.

“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my swords and standing up, making my way to the stables. It’s best to catch the alderman first thing – then, he can’t be annoyed by other matters. But sometimes, he’s annoyed that the first matter of the day is a Witcher. So catching him in a good mood is basically a fifty-fifty chance.

I stare at the werewolf’s head I left hidden under a blanket in Roach’s box.

Maybe more like forty - sixty.

“Ugh,” Valdo says, spotting the head, and I quickly tear my gaze away. 

“Here,” I say, opening Roach’s box, greeting her with a friendly pat, and handing the bard the rope of her halter. Roach snorts, rubbing her head against my chest,  _ hard  _ – I swear, one of these days, she’ll manage to throw me over – before snorting again and looking at Nachtschatten expectantly.

“Roach – Nachtschatten, Nachtschatten – Roach,” I introduce. 

Valdo gives me a weird look, but I ignore him.

“Be nice, girl,” I warn her before giving her a last pat on the back. “You’re alright?”

The bard eyes my horse, which is nibbling at his clothes, clearly in search for a snack. “Uh, fine,” he says, looking towards the exit and then back to me. “Smithy, 20 Orens. It’ll be fine.”

I frown at him. He seems to have a weird tendency to repeat stuff that is obvious, but sure. My gaze travels back to the dried blood on the blanket that hides the head while I hear Roach’s shoes clack on the stone of the stable. The door creaks open, and a moment later my horse and the bard are gone.

The head does look rather ugly. It’d be good if Jaskier was here – he could charm even the grumpiest alderman.

Without him, my chances have probably decreased to thirty - seventy.

Thinking about it, I realise that the man hadn’t been too friendly yesterday when I picked up the contract. Rather reluctant actually to give me half the pay in advance.

Twenty to eighty then.

_ Twenty percent isn’t that bad _ , I try to reason, grabbing the blanket with a sigh. The unpleasant stench of dead werewolf hits my nose, and I shudder in disgust. If the alderman smells that... I should probably leave the head by the door, or my chances will be more like ten to ninety.

Who am I kidding? My chances of being treated civilly in this shithole are just about as high as Jaskier’s chances to play at a royal court undisturbed and without any murder threats.

Fucking  _ zero _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Soooo... *awkward pause* ... I´m a sadist to my characters....*nods slowley* But believe me... it hurts me too! X0 And I fully intend on making things better X0 With the cooperation of my wonderful co-writers ...hopefully...
> 
> yeah...
> 
> Have a fluffy blanket and a glass of water... *leaves a pile of fluffy purple blankets and a pitcher of water* 
> 
> It might get worse... *shifty eyes*
> 
> Imma go now.... *akwardly wanders off stage*


	31. The Alderman´s Daughter. And His Niece.

**Geralt**

I catch the worried little frown on Jaskier’s face, even though to everyone else he might look completely unruffled and smiling. His colourful clothes are like a breath of life, a spot of brightness in this grey, muddy town, and I feel that I’m actually relieved to see him. That means he’s alright. It means he’s no longer mad at me.

Pity he had to find me in this situation. 

I’d known I’d be treated like shit here. The noble alderman wants to skim me off the coin by not letting me enter and having his servant deal with the matter. Frustrated, my grip on the sack with the werewolf’s head tightens, and I clench my teeth. Of course, it’d be no problem to push past the servant and slam the dripping head on the alderman’s desk – and something about that image gives me vicious pleasure – but I know that I can’t and  _ shouldn’t  _ do that.

“Nothing,” I bite out, dropping the head directly on the servant’s feet, who instantly jumps back with a disgusted yell. “Let’s go.”

I try not to think about the fact that I spent half of yesterday’s pay on the room, the dinner, and the breakfast. Camping it will be, then.

“What?” Jaskier exclaims, not moving from the spot. “Did he pay you?”

I hunch my shoulders and stare determinedly at a murky puddle next to Jaskier, which is answer enough.

“What?!” the bard exclaims again, clear outrage in his voice. “He can’t  _ do  _ that.”

I sigh. Sometimes, Jaskier is so naive about matters of the real world. His song helped, really helped, but in most towns, I’m still the evil that lingers in the dark, the fabric of nightmares – equally feared and hated – and there’s nothing he or I can do about that.

“He can, and he just did,” I tell him, grabbing his arm to emphasise my point. “Just let it be, bard.”

“Yes,” the servant calls after me. “Your kind of people don’t belong in this fine town. Dirty mutant-freaks, trying to scam coin from innocent people, and bards, whoring around like common sluts – you should all be hanged!”

*

*   
*

*

**Jaskier**

“Your kind of people don’t belong in this fine town. Dirty mutant-freaks, trying to scam coin from innocent people, and bards, whoring around like common sluts – you should all be hanged!”

"Oh, terrible words! Who told you such slander, sweetheart?" I say as I hear the servant. He seems to be confused, but I can already see the contempt rising in his eyes. Perfect. I wink to Geralt quickly. Itʼs showtime. I am just not sure if weʼre playing a tragedy or a comedy. Yet. 

"Your master wouldnʼt be happy to hear it..." I tutt. "My noble friend Herman didnʼt seem like he wanted me to hang or... Maybe something happened since we last met at court, what do you think, Geralt?"

"Hm." The witcher crosses his arms over his chest. I see. He’s running out of patience. 

"Youʼre lying, bard," says the servant leaning on the gate. 

"I wonʼt be wasting my time on a discussion and proving that..." 

The servant grabs my collar as he puts his hands through the bars. I see Geralt getting closer. I wave my hand. 

"Calm down, Geralt. Everythingʼs fine. The boy simply forgot his manners. Ever since lovely Lady Gertrude, alderman... Hermanʼs wife..." I explain to Geralt. "She was like a mother to all of the servants, wasnʼt she? Since she passed away... apparently, the service lacks education. And coin. We have to understand them. Although, she would be disappointed with you, boy. This is not how she used to treat her guests... Pardon me." I clean my throat as the servant releases me without any word, just looking at the sky, probably to apologise to Lady Gertrude. 

"Jaskier, do you know the family?" asks Geralt.

We left the gate behind us, but just to make sure no one will hear me, I make a few steps more and look around before I answer. 

"Letʼs say I slept with the aldermanʼs daughter. And his niece. A couple of times... Do not look at me like this, Geralt!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: *leaves a bowl full of tasty bards and witchers*


	32. Coins

**Geralt**

I roll my eyes at the bard. Of course he slept with these women. Why was I even asking?

“It’s good I didn’t take you along to see the alderman, then,” I say, crossing my arms. “He still wouldn’t have given me any coin; instead, he’d have chased us out of town with his dogs. Charming, bard. Very charming.” Before Jaskier can open his mouth to defend himself, I turn away, making my way back to the inn. “Sometimes, I wonder why I take you along at all, if all you do is make things worse.”

I hear a dramatic gasp behind me, but I don’t turn around to look at my friend. I know that he’ll have his hands on his hips or clutched to his chest, as if I tragically wounded him. 

However, there is the faint smell of hurt biting into my nose – so maybe my words cut deeper than I’d intended.

Quickly, I push that thought away, walking determinedly towards the inn. Valdo should be back by now, and hopefully, everything will be settled with the smithy. Ignoring Jaskier’s angry muttering, I push the door to the tavern open, only to realise that it’s completely empty.

Well, fuck. 

Roach is gone, too.

Did the bard make away with my horse and my coin?

I almost can’t believe it. Normally, I’m very good at spotting when people deceive me, and I’m quite sure that Nachtschatten had no ulterior motives when he walked away with Roach.

I whip around, fixing Jaskier with a glare. “Did you see Valdo?”

A blush creeps onto Jaskier’s cheeks, and I absently note that he looks very handsome like that. “Uh... about that...”

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

The coins rattle in my pocket. I return two orens to Geralt. I am relieved to know Valdo left us with no unsettled debt, which means he probably won't come back unless he's a complete, obtrusive idiot. I am sorry to know that I cannot be sure about it. 

The sound of the coins reminds me of the quiet ‘farewell’. Something inside of me wanted to answer "fare thee well, Valdo" like then, years ago. But only to Valdo from the years ago, the one I met this morning in my dream. Again. 

I still feel the heat on my cheeks. It is very uncomfortable. I feel exposed in front of the witcher. It is dangerous to collect the remnants of dreams in his presence. I can feel like he already knows everything. Itʼs all because of these merciless golden eyes... 

"Donʼt worry about Roach. She will be ready in the afternoon," I decide to say. Thereʼs no need to come back to this onerous subject which is-

“Valdo,” Geralt says. 

“Excuse me?” A stupid facial expression is my only option to react... “Ah! Va.. Valdo?" Of course 'Valdo'...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: *sighs* I am so fucking stressed.... YoY but here is a small chapter if I am not entirely dead in the brain I might try to post another like on thursday or something to catch you up a little... 
> 
> Also slowly but surely writing the third little story from the bardic past X3 
> 
> *whiters like a sad little flower, but leaves you some rose marmelade and fresh rolls behind*


	33. Might Be Worry, Might Be Hunger

**Geralt**

Roach is ready in the  _ afternoon _ ? How long does the fucking smith need to fit one fucking horse shoe? I grit my teeth. That’s neither Jaskier’s nor Valdo’s fault, which reminds me...

“Valdo,” I say, looking around the tavern for the bard, even though I already know he’s not here. His smell is faint in the air. He hasn’t been back here since we left in the morning. But Jaskier met him, talked to him.

I narrow my eyes at the bard, who starts to stutter something I can’t really make heads or tail of. 

“He left,” I exclaim, finally comprehending what he’s going on about. Almost automatically, I calculate the distance Valdo can make on the road during the hours we’re detained here until the smith is ready, and realise I’d only be able to catch up with him if I ride Roach, which obviously isn’t possible with Jask-

I stop myself mid-thought. What am I thinking? Why would I want to catch up to Valdo? It’s his business that he left, and I have places to be, monsters to hunt.  _ One  _ bard as travel companion is quite enough, thank you very much.

I ignore the heavy feeling in my gut that might be worry, might be hunger and tell myself I’m only annoyed because Nachtschatten didn’t see me as worthy of a proper goodbye. 

What the fuck am I supposed to do for a whole fucking day in this shit-town?

“Jaskier,” I ground out angrier than I intended, but the bard only lifts one unimpressed eyebrow, used to my moods by now – thank the gods. “Stay here and do whatever you want, but please collect Roach as early as possible. Then make your way towards Brugge. I’ll find you on the road.”

We’d need to reach a bigger town soon. I need some contracts to fill my pockets before autumn, or the way to Kaer Morhen will be a hungry one.

The bard blinks at me. “And what will you be doing?”

“Hunt,” I reply gruffly, turning around without another word and striding towards the exit. At least one of us knows how to find some decent dinner. And since I have the whole day, I might even catch a deer, which will tide us over nicely until the next town.

*

*

*

*

**Jaskier**

I have no fair clue what Geralt is planning. However, I have the strange feeling that this might not be an ordinary hunt. Thereʼs one more detail to question... 

“Wait... You want me to take Roach? Like... You know... To r- To ride? With reins and- and the whole stuff?” 

Although I can proudly say that I have practiced for years, and had marvelous possibilities as a viscount, then as a follower of the witcher... I am not the best rider to exist.

“You can do it, bard,” mumbles Geralt. 

“I beg your pardon?!” I put my hands on my hips - thatʼs an involuntary action... “Of course I can do it, witcher!” I guarantee, even though I am not so sure.

“'Till we meet again, Geralt!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: HERE! As promised X3 Otherwise I´m all chaos, my mind is a fuckin´prism and I can´t get anything done while havinga myriad of idea! XI 
> 
> *Leaves out a Jaskier, Geralt and Valdo flavoured donuts*


	34. In Venere Veritas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: The song in this chapter is "In Venere Veritas" by the band HIM.

**Valdo**

I left Dillingen wanting to get away as quickly as I could, not to chance another unexpected meeting. However the lack of sleep left my body more exhausted than I care to be. I push forward slowly, not wanting to be weak and admitting to it by giving in to needing rest. The scratch on my leg - however insignificant it might be - let itself be known, slowing me down with the increasing pain. My body making me stop in protest of my poor care. The feeling of greasiness and dirt makes everything feel even worse. 

With my tempo slowing rapidly, I’m unable to ignore the pain anymore. So when a shallow brook crosses my path, I decided to stop for now. 

The sun’s still high, but past its zenith nearing the afternoon. I didn't get far, but I have to admit to myself that cleaning up and resting is probably the better choice than mindlessly pushing on and possibly getting into another predicament.

I shudder at the memory, while getting away from the road, up the brook's steam.

The next time, I most likely won’t be as lucky as to encounter a kind Witcher. The corners of my mouth involuntarily raise in a soft smile at the thought of Geralt. The famous Geralt of Rivia... I'm glad he isn't what most people believe him to be. 

I eventually stop in a spot sheltered by some trees and bushes, quite the ways away from the road. I put my things down by a large rock, making sure my lute won't fall.

I sit down, and look at the bandage on my leg. It probably needs changing too.

I untangle the knot holding it together tightly - there is no way that I'll be able to wrap it up as well again. 

The wound looks... like wounds usually do. Not a pretty sight, but I've had worse. It just seems to struggle with healing because of me being on the move. 

I sigh heavily, resigned to have to stay in one place for the rest of the day and the night.

There is plenty I can do, though, so I proceed to take out the spare clothes from my bag. Nothing fancy, but it will feel amazing to put them on after I wash up. 

I get close to the brook and stop. 

I listen, trying to determine if there’s someone or something nearby. After a few minutes of concentration I decide it's as safe as I'm going to get. 

I put the fresh clothes on the grass and sit down to take my boots off, they are well worn and will barely make it through the summer.

I look around and listen again, getting a little tense now. Nothing seems out of order though, the leaves rustle softly in the cool breeze of the ending spring, birds chirp undisturbed by my presence.

I take a deep breath, before I start to undress, not looking at my own body if possible. 

I lay the dirty clothes close to the water in a messy heap, before I slowly walk into the brook. The water is cold, but not freezing, it reaches to my knees at its deepest.

I ignore the goosebumps and kneel down to submerge myself as much as possible. My breathing resembles a series of gasps until I get used to the cold. 

I scrub at my body to get all the unpleasant residue of my travels, and of the night before, off myself, feeling the bumps and welts of the scars that litter my body. 

I don't linger on it, and before my feelings can have any chance to catch up to me I put my head under water. 

I almost giggle at the cold and the freshness of it. I take my time to get my hair clean, trying to disentangle some of the knots caught into them. 

When I get out of the water I feel so much better, and so much colder.

I gently press as much of the water from my hair as I can, taking a few steps out of the shadows, hoping the sun will help me warm up and dry quicker. 

I put on my shirt, which isn't custom made, hence doesn't fit me very well, resembling a tunic almost, on my short form. That will have to suffice until I dry up a little more I decide. 

I roll the too long sleeves up to my elbows and kneel at the brook´s edge, proceeding with trying to wash the dirty clothes and Geralt's bandage as best as I can. 

*

My body feels dry enough to put on the rest of my clothes leaving only my feet bare after I've finished the washing. I laid the wet bandage and clothes onto the rock, so they can dry enough for me to respectively wrap up my wound again and pack up my garments.

_ You should eat something _

I grimace at the thought of the breakfast disaster, but I know I  _ should _ eat. So I start wandering around, looking for some edible plants or wild vegetables and fruits.

I find some wild raspberry bushes not too far away and some edible plant roots that I munch on, while collecting some more into the small cotton tissue I have, for later. 

The yarrow and the calendula flowers don't go unnoticed either, so I collect those too, intending to use it for my wound. 

I feel something akin to peace, sitting in the sun by the large rock, and pestle the herbs in the small mortar my mother gave me for my travels so long ago.

I apply the paste I created on the scratch to help it heal, before putting on the bandage. My nose scrunches up. It won't hold as well as when the Witcher wrapped it, but it'll have to do. 

The sun by now noticeably lower, telling me that the afternoon would soon give in to evening. A passing thought made me wonder if Roach was alright. 

I'll never know, so no reason to dwell on it, but this strange fondness shows up at the edges of my mind briefly once more.

Maeve, my loyal companion, draws my attention. I pick her up and take her out of her case.

My fingers glide over the strings, and I pull the pegs this and that way until I am happy with her sound. 

I leaned back against the rock, my fingers plucking at the strings. Aimlessly first and then forming a familiar tune.

My eyes close, as I quietly sing to myself.

_ " Lacing cupid in a body bag well-worn | Next to the mausoleum he was born in | Picking up the pieces of this gory glory of it all | From eve to morn, for Eve to mourn _

_ Have no fear | There are wounds that are not meant to heal | And they sing In Venere Veritas | Come inside, let the fire burn you alive | And sing darling sing | There are wounds that are not meant to heal at all | In Venere Veritas " _

The tune and the words are calming, my fingers sliding from string to string and from fret to fret without thinking.

_ " There is a method to our sadness | As we drag the mirror, ball and chain | Through the twilight again dressed up in shame _

_ Have no fear | There are wounds that are not meant to heal | And they sing In Venere Veritas | Come inside let the fire burn you alive | And sing darling sing | There are wounds that are not meant to heal at all | In Venere Veritas  _

_ Let's fall apart together now _

_ Let's fall apart together now..." _

  
  
  
  


**Geralt**

The pine and earth smell of the forest is refreshing, and I purposefully walk in the opposite direction of where I hunted the werewolf in the night. For a good hour, I do nothing but walk, taking the time to calm my thoughts, to centre myself how Vesemir taught me.

It’s not good to go hunting – any kind of hunting – when you’re at war with yourself. So I put the anger aside, letting it flow out of my body with every breath, and I accept that there’s nothing I can do for Valdo, letting go of the worry.

Only the happy feeling of Jaskier defending me in the morning lingers warm and pleasant in my chest, and I hold onto it and let it guide me through the woods.

It’s pleasantly cool in the shade of the trees, and I just wander about until I find some fresh deer tracks, which I decide to follow. They lead me over a small hill, to a lighter part of the forest where the trees are not as dense as before. The gurgle of water tells me that there must be a small stream nearby. I follow the sound until I detect it – a glittering band of silver between the green and brown of the forest.

I look up at the sky, judging how much time passed since I left. It looks to be past noon, so I should find my prey soon and then make my way back to Jaskier on the road.

Bending down to refill my waterskin, I pick up on the smell of deer and the sound of tongues lapping water. They must be only a few hundred metres upstream. Well, that was easier than expected.

Silently, I put my waterskin back, and let the crossbow slide from my shoulder. However, before I can make a single step, another smell pervades my nostrils.

Human.

Familiar human. I only smelled it a few hours before.

I freeze, turning my head in the direction of the smell. It originates downstream, carried by a small breeze. I was only able to pick it out because I’d been tuned on it before when I looked for Valdo – and because my body is especially alert on a hunt.

I can’t exactly determine how far the bard is away – judging by how faint the smell is, intermingled with water and earth, it could be hours.

Fuck.

Which way should I go? 

The deers are closer – and we need food. Valdo left. There’s no reason to follow him.

Only the uncomfortable weight in my gut, urging me to follow his trail.

But no. I don’t let my emotions control me. The more reasonable thing would be to go hunt the deer. I could still follow Valdo’s trail later, now that I picked up on it.

Inhaling deeply, I make a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: WEEELLLLLL ... I´ve forgotten to post a chapter on sunday... but it was Valentine´s DAY!!!! I needed to celebrate everything heartshaped! <3 <3 <3  
> How have yall been? :3 in case of sadness and broken heartedness... this chapter brings to you some Valdo-selfcare X3 because he deserves it <3 
> 
> And the song he played, was of course an acoustic lute version, in case you know or check out the original. 
> 
> Also I could really use some cuddles X( 
> 
> Also here... *leaves out a bag full of plush hearts to hug and cuddle with* <3 :3


	35. Blood On Whatever Fabric

**Valdo**

I stay leaned against the stone, my eyes still closed as I let the last tunes of my song resound until their inevitable death amongst the soft sounds of nature.

Only... The sounds aren't soft anymore. I hear the crunching of twigs and rustling of leaves underneath something heavy. 

Steps.

My heart rate accelerates. 

A human or a monster? Could be one and the same, as the difference is non existent sometimes. I should go, should run and hide...

"Valdo?" A familiar rough voice interrupts my chaotic thoughts. 

Promptly after, a figure appears from around the nearby bushes. My eyes widen as the voice in fact turns out to belong to the Witcher named Geralt. The same one I thought I'd never see again, and yet not even a day passed before he stands before me again. 

I clutch Maeve a little tighter to my chest, wondering if he had been following me. 

He looks no different than before, at the same time he appears nothing like when I met him. 

He is standing tall in the midst of the wilderness as if it's where he belongs, as if he is more comfortable here. Two sword hilts peek out from behind his back, and a fleeting thought passes my mind that if that were death here too take me with him, It wouldn't be such a bad way to go. I dismiss it however. 

His hair is tinted a pastel orange-pink by the light of the setting sun, making him appear warm and deepening the scars on his face at the same time. Softening his appearance and making it seem rougher somehow. 

Maybe I failed him with Roach. Maybe he is here to give voice to his displeasure with my actions, by making his swords sing. 

I swallow heavily, and faintly manage to say. 

"Hello again Geralt...what brings you here?"

  
  
  


**Geralt**

Valdo’s question catches me off-guard, even though it really shouldn’t. Yes, what exactly am I doing here?

“I caught your scent in the woods,” I explain.

Various emotions flash over his face, too fast for me to catch, before finally settling on disgust and mild concern. “Wait a moment – is that  _ blood _ ?”

I look down on myself. The bard has a good eye, I have to admit. The few blood splatters on my black trousers are barely noticeable, and I was careful with the bleeding carcass, not eager to get a lecture from Jaskier about “blood on whatever fabric”.

“Deer,” I say, scratching with a nail on a spot on my elbow, which does nothing to get the blood out.

“Ah.” Valdo relaxes. His inky locks are still slightly wet, and there are dark spots on his doublet where the water dripped down. He’s clutching his lute to his chest, as if to protect it from any intruder. The smell of herbs hangs in the air, and I can see that he hasn’t re-bandaged his wound yet but instead applied some sort of healing balm to it – that explains the calendula scent. Slowly, he sits down again on the spot he apparently decided to camp tonight. 

I have to admit that it isn’t the worst place, close to the river, and the slope of the hill provides cover from the wind – however, the ground is quite rocky, and the marks on the tree tell me that a sounder of wild boars came through here just this morning. They might be back later, and an angry boar is no fun.

“That doesn’t explain why you decided to follow my scent,” Nachtschatten adds, narrowing his eyes. “S’something wrong with Roach?”

“Roach?” I reply eloquently. Why would I be here if something had happened to Roach? “She’s fine.”

The rest of the tension bleeds from Valdo’s shoulders, as if he was genuinely worried about my horse. “That doesn’t answer my question, though, Witcher.”

“Hm,” I stall. I can’t really explain why I followed him. If I weren’t a Witcher, I might say it was concern – but since I am a Witcher, and Witchers don’t follow feelings, I settle on instinct. “You didn’t say goodbye,” I finally say slightly awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Damn... whoever chooses the titles of out chapters should either get a raise or go home cuase they`re drunk... *shifty eyes*


	36. I Could Say Goodbye To You Now

**Valdo**

The Witcher's answer makes a cold shiver run down my spine, but I catch myself before unraveling at the disturbing implications it brings. 

My senses sharpened by the uncertainty, I cannot miss the specks of brownish-red on his clothes. I try to banish any incoming judgement that tries to rise in me and settle on another question first. 

"Wait a moment - is that _ blood _ ?" I very much hope the answer is less dire than my mind let's me think at the moment.

He seems to have to check what I am talking about, so I watch him carefully, part of me deciding if I should try and run. 

"Deer," is the answer I get and I try to make my sigh of relief not seem too out of place. 

So blood, but not the way my mind provided and it means he isn't hurt either. 

Geralt doesn't say anything more, just watches me back. I feel rather exposed, and very aware of my pants being rolled up to my knees. 

"That doesn't explain why you decided to follow my scent." I say as I move Maeve out of my arms, as casually as I can, and place her down in a way to cover my legs somewhat. 

To cover the scars that I feel way too aware of at the moment. 

I ask about Roach too, stuttering slightly. Worry making me wonder what will happen if something bad happened to her. The white-hair however seems rather confused by my question, as if my train of thought was a strange one.

"She's fine." His gravel makes it sound like a growl almost. If growls were warm and unthreatening that is. 

_ Everything will be fine _

A soft warmth fills my heart. I'm glad his companion is well. I totally ignore the slight feeling of joy at actually meeting the Witcher once more. 

I feel a little better now...and yet. The fact he did follow my...  _ scent _ of all the things still bothers me. I vehemently refuse to acknowledge the distant feeling of dread wanting to come forward and overwhelm me.

"That doesn't answer my question, though, Witcher." I call him out on not answering. Our previous encounter was less than ideal, so what could he possibly want with me? 

His answer is nothing I could have ever expected and a small giggle escapes my lips before I can stop it. My free hand flies up to cover my mouth.

That was... well... adorable. The thought mixed with the blatant truthfulness the man in front of me exudes make the little spark of happiness in me grow somewhat. 

"I... didn't think that would mean much to you." I answer truthfully. 

"And I had to go." The warmth seeps from my voice. "The decision I had to make... you remember?" He nods simply. "I made it. And now a long way awaits me. Not that much time that I've got..." 

I trailed off with a sad smile. In all honesty, there was never really a decision. There was only one option for me, as hard as it seemed.

"...I can say goodbye to you now if you still wish for it." I say eventually and a little awkwardly.

"Unless you want to take a break here before you return to... your own company?"

I motion to my resting place in an invitation. Part of me hoping he'd stay a while, another dreading it. He already has seen too much... and if all his senses were like he implied his scent to be... his company would be difficult in many ways.

*

*

*

*

  
  


**Geralt**

Valdo invites me to stay, and I’m not sure how to react. It throws me back to the question of what I’m doing here in the first place. 

I saw that Valdo’s fine and unharmed. So, logically, I should get back to Jaskier. The sun is already low in the sky, dipping beneath the horizon, and I promised my friend to be back at nightfall.

“Hm,” I hum, unsure how to decide, watching as the bard checks on the bandage he put out to dry. “Want some help?”

Carefully, I draw closer, and as I do, I notice a faint scar underneath Valdo’s right eye, now not covered by eyeliner. Instantly, I suppress any suspicions about that. It’s not my place.

“Thank you,” the bard agrees, holding the dry bandages out to me, and wrap his leg back up as I did last night, forcefully ignoring the patches where no hair grows on his shins. More fucking scars. The bard seems to lead a very dangerous or a very reckless life, or maybe both.

To suppress that train of thought, I ask the first question that comes to my mind. “Where are you headed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: XI Yup.... I´ve forgotten to post on Sunday again.... BUT! Here we are now and if I don´t forget I might post the next one somewhere around the midweek, cause the next chapter is fairly short. But we are getting SO close to the three being finally together in one place XD 
> 
> *fuffy purple hugs with hot pink love-filling*


	37. Bloody Mutagens

**Valdo**

Geralt offers to reapply the bandage on my leg. Knowing I won't be able to bind it as well anyway, I agree and thank him. I'll never be able to pay him back the kindness he is offering me.

I don't want him to see the scars either... but he already did see them anyway, right? He must have. Maybe it'll be fine, he didn't say anything yet so why would he now.

He starts wrapping the cloth around my leg gently. 

"Where are you headed?" He asks.

"North, towards Novigrad." I say truthfully. 

"Probably going to make a stop in Dorian... but it's on the way sooo..." I am oversharing now. Fuck. But he is so close. And I can't help but feel nervous. I'm not used to people getting so close. Not in such a casual way at least. 

"And what's your next destination?" I ask unsure if out of politeness or curiosity. 

A strand of that white hair has fallen over his eye and I suppress the urge to tuck it back up.

*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

“Wherever the next contract is,” I reply, securing the bandage and standing back up. “Brugge normally has enough to keep me busy for a week or two, so that’ll be the next stop... and whatever’s on the way.”

Besides, Jaskier blabbed about a summer festival in Mayena, so we might as well pass by there, but I don’t say that.

I’m acutely aware that we’re heading in the same direction, and I’m not sure what to do about that. Firstly, Valdo clearly doesn’t want to travel with me – I mean, he just left - and probably even less with Jaskier. I really can’t handle two bards at each other’s throat all the time. Jaskier’s singing is annoying enough. 

‘Look, Geralt, a flower!’ –

‘Look, Witcher, a particularly interesting stone!’ –

‘Do you want to hear my new song, Geralt?’ –

Ugh. Roach understands me. She often gives me a look that says, see what I have to deal with? when Jaskier tries to bribe her with apples into being petted by him.

Anyway, Valdo isn’t my business. If we bump into each other at the road – well, that’s life. But I won’t seek out his companionship. He can clearly handle himself, judging by the knives in his bag.

_ Or not _ , a voice whispers,  _ judging by the werewolf encounter. _

Ah, fuck.

Why did the bloody mutagens infuse me with an urge to protect all human beings? It really isn’t fair.

“Since we’re both headed north,” I begin, looking down on the bard with – what I hope is – an unreadable expression, “we could travel together until Brugge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Here you go! Together again? XD Not entirely, still one bard missing, but soon... on Sunday prolly if I don´t forget again... *shifty eyes* 
> 
> *disappears in a puff of purple smoke and dinosaur-shaped confetti*


	38. I´m The Monster

**Valdo**

The suggestion to travel together surprises me more than I'd expect. Travelling with others isn't anything that I am used to. 

But a small almost forgotten part of me, the lonely part seeking company, and the part that used to light up hearing stories of grand adventures... it's straining to win the conflict within me. 

I really shouldn't. I don't even know this person. He could turn out terrible... but my heart refuses to believe my mind's desperate try to keep myself from harm. 

And there is Pankratz too... We hate each other... even the short time we spent tonight was strained at best. 

_ And yet it felt somewhat different than normally. _

Unsaid things hanging over us. 

I doubted we'd ever be friends  _ again _ , but maybe... maybe I should give it another chance. Maybe... I could at least actually look at the man, figure out who he really is now, apart from his title and family and the university gossip. 

We were older now after all... wiser hopefully. And the fact I've met him again when my life is taking a turn towards the dark part of my past, the one that was present back then when we met. Back when it shaped my, most likely unjust dislike for Julian.

_ It wasn´t only ever dislike.  _ My mind provided unhelpfully.

I felt lightheaded contemplating this. I felt scared. It all could go so wrong. 

"Geralt...?" I ask instead of answering, he grunts in response not looking away from the bandage wrapping.

"Are all the songs about you true?" It sounds so random to ask him this, and he actually looks up, with a face of a person who thinks their conversation partner might be confused, drugged or crazy. 

I can't help the silly grin on my face, that is born out of the self-reflection on my current action and the almost dizzy feeling the leap of faith I'm about to do brings me. 

He goes back to the bandage to fix it up, before he looks up again.

  
  
*

*

*

*

**Geralt**

"Are all the songs about you true?" Valdo asks, an uncharacteristic smile widening his face.

I’m not entirely sure what that has to do with us travelling together, but I answer him anyway. “Obviously not. Jaskier wrote them.”

“Oh.” For a moment, the bard looks like he expected something else. “The first line should’ve clued me in on that, I suppose.  _ When a humble bard ... _ ” He snorts. “So there were no elves, no devil?”

“Devils don’t exist. But there  _ were _ elves,” I concede.

“And the ‘friend of humanity’ bit?” the bard questions after a moment, something hopeful in his tone that I can’t place.

“Hm,” I grunt. That’s not how I would describe myself. “I’m a Witcher, a monster hunter,” I add, turning around. It’s time to leave. Nachtschatten surely doesn’t want my company anymore, now that I’ve taken his illusions about me being a hero, a noble knight. It’s better to just leave before he turns on me and spews hatred like all the other humans.

Jaskier – my friend, my only friend – is waiting for me, and I almost abandoned him because I wanted to be that man in the song, the White Wolf, the hero, the protector of humanity. But all I am is a Witcher. Valdo doesn’t need my protection. Instead, he should stay as far away from me as possible.

I’m not the hero – 

I’m the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas: Here we go! I made it on Sunday.... *shifty eyes* Next chapter we´ll get our third player bakc again.... and from there... slowley devolve into madness!! MUHAHAHAHAH!!!! 
> 
> *leaves some cryptic lute-shaped cookies*


End file.
